


Sigh No More

by geniusincombatboots



Series: A Lady's Guide to Arranged Marriages [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Adapting to A New Culture, F/M, Married Life, Politics, Royal Marriage, frequent changes in pov, relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:42:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 77,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28031100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniusincombatboots/pseuds/geniusincombatboots
Summary: Eomer and Lothiriel continue to learn what it means to be married, and strive to find the best way to rule a country together.
Relationships: Éomer Éadig/Lothíriel
Series: A Lady's Guide to Arranged Marriages [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032663
Comments: 92
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back!
> 
> This chapter's a bit shorter than normal, but I am working out the next few chapters, and should be able to churn this story out once I have the thread of it.
> 
> As always comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!

The winter had been harder on Lothiriel Queen that it had been on the country, and though the other women of her circle did complain a bit of the lingering chill in the air, they seemed to cast off the heavy cloaks that the last few months had required. The coming of warmer weather was a light at the end of a tunnel as far as she was concerned, though the months spent in doors had offered as compensation a strengthening in her relationship with her lord husband, so she could not complain too much.

She did however feel a bit weary of the cold and of being cooped up inside of the city walls. It was not that she had ever been much for the outdoors, but for once it seemed as though she would have the freedom of movement that she had never really considered a right. The few times that she had ridden out with Eomer had given her a taste of that freedom, and she was eager for the warmer days to come so that they could resume their morning rides.

Any travel from the city had been deemed a risk, as the council feared that in the snow their king would suffer some accident or other, and that he would never be found. Without an heir, there was no stability for the kingdom, a fact that Lothiriel was keenly aware of. Eomer discarded her every concern on that matter still, reminding her that they were still newly married, and that he preferred having all of her attentions for his own.

Lothiriel sat in her solar with her women, watching as Eomer played with the children on the floor, having decided that he need to hide from his councilors again. She began to wonder if he did in fact come to sit to hide, or if he simply decided to offer it as an excuse for the few hours that he stole. He seemed to enjoy playing with the children, and was a terribly good sport, even as the children changed the rules of their games without notice. It should not have amused her as much as it did, but he was so kind to the small tyrants.

She understood the need to hide from the councilors better now, if there was indeed a need, and not simply an excuse to avoid his duties. It was not that he outright feared any of them, but rather that whenever there was some disagreement, they would splitter off and wait for him to happen upon them so that they could argue their case. It was a trap that she had stumbled into more times that she liked, but had an easier time freeing herself from it without creating tension than Eomer did. One of Eomer’s solutions to being cornered was to stare the lords down until they felt uncomfortable and left, certain that they had brought on the ire of their king. It was effective if a bit indecorous, and better than his other solution, which seemed to be walking away without a word.

A squealing scream broke her focus on her work, and Lothiriel looked up, ready for some horror to be unfolding in her presence but found instead that the children had formed as orderly a line as they could because they each wanted a turn in the new game. That game was, simply put, Eomer throwing them in the air and catching them.

“Derfred!” Lady Gorith called, her face the image of maternal rage, checked only by the fact that she could not shout at her king, “You leave His Majesty alone!”

“I am certain my lord has no complaints,” Lothiriel smiled, “He has not been able to take up the training yards for some weeks. We should not think to let him get out of shape.”

Eomer shot Lothiriel a look of wounded pride that slowly melted into a smile, “If you would prefer, I can take the children outside… The weather is warmer than it has been.”

“So that you can drop them on the pavement?” Lady Baldgwyn asked, smirking.

“I will not drop any of them!” Eomer retorted, adjusting his hold on the golden-haired child in his hands, “By your leave, my ladies, I promise to mind your children well.” No one protested, save Dernhild who giggled as Eomer carried her under his arm out into the square.

“Perhaps he will keep them all, and we will no longer need to mind them at all,” Lady Widfara teased.

Lothiriel smirked, biting back a retort that she would have her own children soon enough “They would all need to share a room with His Majesty’s dog, and so would never sleep when told to.”

“You think they do already?” Lady Baldgwyn chuckled.

The squealing sounds of glee shifted to disappointment after a time and Lothiriel assumed that Eomer’s back had demanded a break from the game and was satisfied that she was right as soon as he returned into the solar. Mother’s snatched at small hands, and leaning close to their children, demanded they behave and let Eomer rest as he sank into the window seat beside Lothiriel with a stiffness that she recognized.

Reaching behind her, Lothiriel passed him a cushion that he accepted and quickly deposited behind him wincing a little.

“Why did you allow me to act so foolishly?” Eomer groaned.

“I was quite certain that nothing I would say would convince you against it,” she smiled at him, pulling her feet up into the window seat and tucked them under herself.

He made a face at her, and her rightness, not wanting to admit that he knew she had a point and offered some grumbled statement that she could not quite make out.

“I will have a hot bath drawn for you later,” she said in a low voice, “It should help with the pain a little… though you now have a legitimate cause to take to our rooms, old man.”

“I will not retreat behind closed doors unless you would come with me, Glorious Star of the Evening Sky.”

She smirked at him. The teasing over the fact that he was a few years older than she was never given with any malice, and he seemed not to be bothered by it. It seemed to bother him more that he could not find a retort to give her that was not either condescending or stupid, and he had instead decided to respond with ever more absurdly deferential titles.

Eomer leaned forward with some difficulty and took her hand away from her work, trying to decide the best way to go about broaching the topic he had in mind, and that he knew he should discuss with her before it was too late, and it seemed as though he was keeping it secret from her. Likely she already knew that he would ask to do it, but that would not soften the blow of his leaving. She had not quite come to a point of raising her voice at him, but that time might be drawing near, and he would do everything in his power to be understanding.

Looking back at Lothiriel, he found her studying him with an adoring smile, and he found himself smiling back at her. Every time he saw that smile, he felt as if he had another bit of turmoil shaved from his life.

He considered telling the other people to leave the room, wanting to hold her for a moment, and knowing full well that she would scoff at him and remind him that he had best behave himself. He had become rather used to her publicly smacking his hand and giving him a look, but each time she did so, there was a blush on her freckled cheeks and a warmth in the look that she turned away from him.

“Are you well?” she asked, almost a whisper as she looked at him, studying his face, a knot of dread forming in her belly.

“Quite well,” he replied, and tried to convince her of it without saying another word. He did not want to start a row, nor wanting to tell her of his plans in a place where she would feel that he was ensuring that she could not react naturally. For the last day, he had been certain that she would be angry, and that alone formed further assumptions.

0x0x0

Faramir narrowed his eyes at Lady Leowella, where she sat with the a few of the most viciously gossipy ladies of the court. He had hoped that she would falter and be embarrassed by the more ostentatious way of life in Minas Tirith and was staunchly fighting needing to agree with his lady wife in her assertion that Lady Leowella would do well in their society.

There was nothing in what Eowyn would tell him that would strengthen his belief that the newcomer had thought to cause some manner of disruption in his little cousin’s marriage, but he could not shake the feeling off. Nor could he like her as long as this suspicion lingered in his mind, no matter how much time Eowyn spent with her.

There was something about her that was too familiar, even by Rohirric standards, a fact that had somehow only served to make her more popular. She scandalized all the ladies, but in the way that was appropriate to the gossiping ladies who were gleeful at the fact that she was so open with her thoughts and opinions.

Eowyn took his arm, a dainty smirk on her lips, “My lord, are you well?”

“I am,” he said with a sigh, tearing his eyes away, “I was only thinking that your companion has adjusted well to our ways.”

“Your concerns were all for naught,” she tugged him along so that he could no longer glower at her friend.

He made a noncommittal sound.

Eowyn fought the urge to roll her eyes at her husband. She had done everything in her power to make Lady Leowella’s arrival palatable. The secret of Leowella’s mistake would go with her to her grave. She would never give anyone cause to dislike her friend, but she knew that Faramir still looked at her sideways, as if seeking out some reason to dislike her. It was a little tiring, but it would pass when there was something of more interest, and then it would all be forgotten.

Erchirion and Amrothos had come to court, to find some station and to make themselves helpful, and she had thought that such a thing would be enough to distract her lord husband, but it had not. Erchirion had been friendly and interested in Lady Leowella and her gossip of Lothiriel’s marriage and of the court at Meduseld.

Faramir had lived his entire life with a mistrust of those around him, whether it was right or not, and with that in mind, she knew that he had a tendency to look at new people with some sort of suspicion, save their King, who he had healed them both after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. He seemed to have taken the old adage that the hands of a king were the hands of a healer far more literally than anyone had anticipated.

0x0x0

Eomer had been as kind and as deferential as possible at supper, trying to soften what he was sure would agony to his wife when he told her of the patrol and of her need to withdraw into the open country for a while. He was always kind to her and attentive, but there was something almost forced in his manner that made Lothiriel suspect him of something.

When they had withdrawn for the evening, Eomer had stayed in the sitting room, working out how to avoid the fight, or worse her careful indifference. They had not in truth quarreled much through the winter, beyond a few irritable grumblings that come with being cooped up too long. He feared that she would fall into the pretense of not caring and decided that it would in fact be better if they fought.

She returned to him, dressed for bed, and looking at him expectantly, trying to smile, “What is it now, that has you looking so sternly at me?”

“I would have your blessing to go forth on a patrol,” he said after a moment, “It would be only a few weeks, if that.”

She sank into a chair, as if her legs had gone out from under her. Staring away from him, she tried to work out what it was he was saying, “Why?”

“I have always done so,” Eomer went on, “and I will go.”

“Has there been some raids that I have not heard of?”

“No-”

“Then why is you must you go, when you have men that would gladly do this for you?” she asked, her gaze coming back to him, trying to read his grim face as he looked back at her. She could see the decision already made and was unreasonably angry suddenly. He had decided, and not said a word, or even thought to tell her that there was a patrol going at all. Then, he had decided how she would react and had hidden things from her, after all of his demands that they share everything. And he wanted her to accept his decision without thought.

She might have done that one, but now she could not quite make herself accept his leaving her without speaking.

“I will do as I always have,” he leaned forward, his gaze keen on her face, “I do not ask your permission. I ask only for your blessing.”

Her anxiety piqued and screamed in the back of her mind, “I do not understand.”

“What part of this escapes your capable mind?” Eomer asked, remembering himself and giving Lothiriel a soft smile.

“Why do you seek to ride out into danger?”

“There is no danger,” he said, “I simply need to go.”

“Why?”

He groaned, rolling his eyes at her, “It is my habit to go, and so I will. It is simple.”

“It must be too simple for my understanding, as I do not see a cause for it. If it is indeed without danger, then what reason is there?”

“I need to be out in the country,” his assumptions of a fight pressed at the back of his throat and he could feel her own irritations rising in her as the color came up in her cheeks.

“So, you will leave me here to mind your government and run the country for you while you ride out into the plains… for your amusement?”

Eomer’s eyes narrowed at her and her tone, “Why do you not tell me what reason you would find appropriate so that I may give it to you.”

She recoiled like a cobra, “I do not see why we ought to bother discussing this matter, as it seems clear to me that my thoughts on it are clearly of no consequence to you!”

“They are not,” Eomer called back, standing up, trying to calm himself, “I need to leave, or I will go mad, I think.”

“Leave the room, leave the city, or leave me?” Lothiriel snapped.

He rounded on her, “I cannot speak to you.”

“Because I am a hysterical woman?!” she stood, “Clearly, I ought to simply send you off with no understanding to be given on why it is you are going! You have made this decision without speaking to me! If I had kept anything from you and acted in this way, you would not take it so well!”

“You call this taking it well?!” Eomer laughed, a harsh sound, “Would that I had never told you this!”

“So, you would have left me without word?!” Lothiriel stared at him.

“It would give me more peace, clearly!” Eomer closed in on her, “I will ride out to find some peace, and some joy, as it seems clear that I will not have it here.”

“Then you leave because I ask for cause?” she stared at him, trying to work it all out, “Would you rather, then, that I nod and smile and let you run free in whatever way you want?!”

“This has nothing to do with you!” He yelled.

“How does it not, when you are asking me to give my blessing to something without a word?”

“It has nothing to do with you! I need a break!”

“From what?” she demanded, crossing her arms, “From duty? Well, that is fine, ride away, and leave me to pick up the running of the kingdom.”

“That is your duty!” he snarled, “To mind my affairs when I am not able to!”

“Do you not think that perhaps I grow weary of duty?”

“Is your stitching and gossiping so tiring as that?”

She froze, staring at him.

“Or is the trouble that this matter is not about you?” Eomer asked, narrowing his eyes at her, “Well, you should know, little princess that most things in the world have nothing to do with you. I am a soldier, and you knew that when you married me. You knew the man that you would spend your life with.”

Lothiriel squared her shoulders, “I did not marry the man that I thought I had, or have you forgotten? Where is that kind and caring husband?”

Eomer stared at her for a moment, trying to work out what it was that had her so angry. Why could she not simply give him her blessing? Why did she need to argue against the reasons that he had given her?

“Do what you wish, my lord,” Lothiriel said, her mouth twisting, “I will be as good and quiet as your other subjects and offer no complaints when you decide to leave me.” She gave him a rough curtsy, before rounded on her heel, she tore across the sitting room and into the bed chamber, slamming the door behind her.

Eomer snatch up one of her books, meaning to hurl it at the door, but stopped himself. He was being a childish ass, he knew it, but so was she. He loved her, but her insistences that he stay in the Hall, safe and locked in drove him mad. He had never in his life been the sort of person that could sit patiently indoors for long stretches of time, and the patrol was not a dangerous one. There were reports of raids to the west, but they had died down in the winter months, and it was imperative that the riders that they had left make a show of patrolling and at least scouting if there were any orcs left in the country. He thought it likely that some of them were still hiding in the country, but he did not deem it wise to mention it to Lothiriel, even if she knew it already, knowing that it would only strengthen her argument that it was too dangerous for him to go.

It was not that her points were illogical, but they were too overprotective, as if she considered him a child who could not be counted on to survive in the wild expanse of his own country, as if he had not been doing this since he was a youth. He had never left her before, and perhaps she was only afraid of that solitude, or perhaps she did not trust him to be loyal to her while he was not under her gaze.

He dropped into a chair, rubbing at his temples and trying to take a few deep breaths to calm himself.

The points she had made had not been answered properly, he knew, and he should have simply explained himself better. He had never needed to explain his reasoning to anyone before and having had to do so had instead been insulting and rude. He had decided that she would argue, and had made her do so.

Dragging himself up, he went over to the door and knocked on it, “Thiriel. May I speak to you, please?” He heard no answer, but he opened the door anyway, and dodged the pillow that Lothiriel had thrown at him. It was better than a book, he thought, smirking to himself, “I am sorry.”

Lothiriel sat on the edge of the bed, her arms crossed and staring at the wall ahead of her.

Looking at her, Eomer was struck by the difference that a few months of marriage had made in her. Two months ago, he was certain that she would smile blandly at him and say that she would accept whatever it was that he wanted to do, that he should go where he wanted, and offer no protest. In truth, he preferred her temper, small as it was.

“Thiriel,” he said, softly, walking over to her slowly, ready to move out of the way of any other projectile she might send his way, “I know that… I have not…” he grumbled trying to work out what to say, “I love you. You are everything to me, and you know that. These short trips are good for bonding the men together, and as we have not been able to train as much as we are able to in the rest of the year.” He sat down beside her, “And more than that, I need some time away from court.”

“Why?” she asked, studying him.

“I grow weary under the pressures that are mine, and I know that you are as well, but…” he looked at her, “I do hope that you understand if I feel a need to take some time for myself.”

“I do, of course, but why did you simply not say so?”

“Because I am an idiot?” Eomer asked, smiling at her gently, and saw that his attempt at humor would not do that trick this time, “I am not used to needing to confer with others before I act, and perhaps I thought that you would understand.”

“I am sorry I lost my temper, and threw a pillow at you,” she grumbled in reply, her arms still crossed firmly over her chest, “I suppose I will miss you, and I was angry… and scared.”

Eomer pulled one of her arms free and took her hand in his, “I swear that I have not tired of you, love. You know that sometimes I will not be here, though I am at least satisfied that I am able to leave the running of the country in your hands while I am away.”

“That is exactly what I am scared of,” she said, “What if the lords will not listen to me?”

Eomer smiled slowly, watching her, wondering if that was the real reason that she had yelled at him, and demanded that he explain himself.

“What if they do not abide by anything I say?”

“Then give me their names when I return, and I will have them all whipped.”

“Be serious!”

“They will listen to you, because you are clever, and you know how things should be done,” He squeezed her hand, thinking for a moment, “I should have explained it better, I know, and I did not expect you to be pleased that I would leave you, and I should not have raised my voice.”

After a moment of thought, she spoke again, “I thought that if you were to leave, it would be out of duty, not this,” she deflated a little, looking at him again, “Perhaps I should have listened to you, but I do not want you to go, especially over something that could be done without your supervision.”

He smoothed a hand over her hair, “I do want you blessing, love.”

“You said that you do not need it.”

“No, but I do not want to leave without it.”

“When will you leave?” she asked quietly.

“Two days hence.”

Lothiriel’s eyes closed, “I suppose there is no purpose in reminding you that you should take every precaution,” she let out a weary sigh, “and you must be certain to eat more than just salted meat. It is not good for you. And you will take a mattress with you! I do not want you coming back, complaining over the ache in your back from sleeping on the ground.”

He clasped her face in his hands and kissed her cheek before resting his head against hers, “I will do everything you ask, and I will be safe, I swear it, dearest. No harm will come to me.”

“You are taking a guard with you,” she ordered.

“I shall! Eothain is accompanying me,” Eomer laughed at the look she gave him, “and Gamling as well. He will ensure that your rules are followed.”

She shook her head.

“It occurs to me that you have never yelled at me before,” Eomer said, musing.

“I have!”

“Not like that,” he smiled, “you are quite a fierce little thing.”

“Oh, hush,” she swatted his leg.

“Truly! Screaming, and slamming doors,” he nodded approvingly, “now we are certainly married.”

“You are tiresome,” she scoffed, climbing down from the bed and going over to her vanity to go through her routine of ointments and oils, shaking her head. He could tell that her vexation was still there, under the surface, and tried to work out some way that he might alleviate it the rest of the way. 

It was not that he felt ashamed that he had shouted at her, she had shouted first, but more than their argument, one of the first that he could recall her being an active participant in, had been over something as stupid as it was. He supposed he did in fact feel poorly over not explaining himself better. Thorough his entire life he had failed to explain things properly but had not particularly minded when people did not properly understand him, at least he told himself so.

He got up from the bed and scooped her hair up in his hands and carefully began separating it into parts, watching as she rubbed the lotions int her skin, “I never did ask why you do this every evening,” he muttered, though he already knew the answer. Sometimes she liked to explain things, even if he already understood them, though normally she would realize that she was expounding on some matter that he already had a grasp of and would tell him off for letting her go on and on.

“These ointments keep my skin nice and soft,” her reflection smirked at him.

“Your skin is already perfect,” he smirked.

“Yes, because I use them,” he looked back over her shoulder at him, a mischief was caught in her eyes as she looked over his face. She patted the bench beside her, bidding him sit but her side, and smiled as he did, dabbing a finger into one of the perfumed ointments, glancing back at him with a grin.

“Do you mean to make me pretty?” Eomer asked, smiling at her as she dabbed the cream against his cheeks, and over his brow, rubbing it into this skin with gentle fingers.

“I do not think I have enough ointment for that,” Lothiriel giggled.

“Oh ho!” he beamed at her, “And what shall I say when my men tease me? They will all say that I am some dandy, now and that you are trying to do some magic on me.”

“You will say that you smell like your wife, and that will shut them all up,” she rubbed his temples with care, watching his face relax under her attention.

He caught her hand in his and kissed her knuckle, “I do love you, and I will miss you.”

She rested her brow against his shoulder, not certain what she could say that she had not already, “I love you, too.”

0x0x0

Perhaps it would be easier the next time he left.

Perhaps she would become accustomed to the solitude. She had known that there would be times where her husband left her alone, but the reality of it was different, especially now. Loving her husband made her want to keep him and protect him.

These thoughts ran through Lothiriel’s mind as she went through the ceremonial blessing, her heart aching more than a little as she offered her hand out for her husband’s kiss.

He stooped low for a moment to look Caelon in the eye, “You take care of your mistress, while I am away,” he said with the seriousness that he would have in giving the charge to one of the guards, and only stood after he was certain that the hound had given the assurance that this order would be followed.

Eomer bowed his head over her hand before standing. He clasped her shoulder for a moment, a silent farewell in his eyes. He kissed her cheek, “I will see you soon, love.”

“If you hurt yourself, you will be faced with endless taunting, and so you had best take care,” she tugged on his pauldron, a quick gesture to ensure that it had been tightened properly. She wanted to snatch his hand in hers and beg him to stay with her, to give her more time to prepare for taking charge in his absence, but it would not do to cause a scene.

“Of course, dearest,” He stroked her cheek, with a small, grateful smile, “I will take every care.”

And then he was gone, riding away into the first spouts of grass that sprouted over the plains, and the sudden absence of him pierced at Lothiriel as soon as he vanished from her sight. Petting at Caelon’s head absentmindedly, Lothiriel went back into the Hall, trying to decide what it was that she was meant to do now.

She collected her ledgers and went to Eomer’s study, which she supposed was her study while he was away and took the Great Seal from the purse that hung from her belt and fidgeted with it as she looked over the papers scattered over the desk.

Bless him, Eomer was good at keeping his things in good order as long as they were not official matters. Letters and petitions would be skimmed and dropped, awaiting a reply or a meeting with the council, but otherwise were left in piles of dubious organization, at least as far as she could tell.

There was no council meeting today, but there was one tomorrow, so it would be good to look over the issues that were to be discussed, or any matter that was open. As it stood, she found that she already had a fairly good grasp of the matters that would likely be presented, and decided that if she did not, she would simply have to ask the council for clarification, and hope that she was not treated as if she was a simpleton.

It was going to be alright. She had managed politics well enough before she had come here and would not need to fear anything.

Later that night, she lay in the large bed, staring at the canopy over her head. For the first time in months, she was completely alone. In the early days of her marriage, she would have found comfort in her solitude, but she had become far too used to her husband’s presence. He was always there, completing their daily rituals, which had now become so mundane to her.

She had reminded Heohild that her hair needed braiding, and her maid had looked almost abashed at forgetting that the charge had once been hers.

Lothiriel reached out her arm, her hand brushing over the pillow on Eomer’s side of the bed. She wondered if he missed her this much, or if she was simply being a foolish young woman.

Solitude was not so foreign a thing to her as it felt now. She had spent enough of her life alone, and there was an end to this one. She just needed to remind herself that Eomer would return soon enough.

Climbing out of bed, Lothiriel pulled her dressing gown on and padded over the floor into the corridor. After giving the corridor a quick glance, to be sure that no one would see her, she walked to the room that would be a nursery someday. She smiled a little as Caelon’s head lifted from the fine bed that was his to use.

Lothiriel patted her leg, “Come along, boy.”

The dog stood up and trotted over to her, leaning against her leg as she walked, letting out a canine yawn as they went.

Once she was back in her bed, she patted the covers for him to climb up next to her. She patted the shaggy head that rested against her belly, “Do not tell Eomer,” she whispered

Caelon stared at her with wide eyes, and she knew the secret, that was not a secret in truth, was safe in his keeping. If a dog could look skeptical, or snort in derision at some pretention, Caelon undoubtedly would have done then, but he was a dog, and was at the moment far too preoccupied by the fact that he was allowed to sleep in his master and mistress’ bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. The holidays have kept me pretty busy, but I have finally been able to find some time to write!
> 
> Enjoy, you guys!

It was not the first council meeting that Lothiriel had presided over, nor was it the second or third. Each meeting left her with all the more dread and rage. Never in her life had she been treated with as much disregard as she was now.

She had not been present at any of her uncle’s council meetings, when he had been alive, but he had always allowed her to be aware of the matters discussed, and he had asked her opinions. She had been prepared her entire life for this position, whether anyone had realized it or not.

“My lords,” she said in the calmest voice that she could muster, “I will not pass a tax on tenant farmers-” she was not able to finish the statement before the voices raised in protest of her stance.

“You would willingly kneecap our economy?” Lord Fulgar’s voice rang out over the others, and they fell quiet, “And with no basis for that, but your own tender heart?”

She could feel her nostrils flaring at the insolence, “We have a plan in place, and we need not milk the poor of their hard-earned money. I know that is difficult to be patient, but-”

“Then you would have us sit quietly and patiently and hope that the farms will give the yields that you anticipate?”

Lothiriel opened one of her ledgers, “Then perhaps you will show me where we are so deficit, because I can find no cause for it, save the matter that some of our good lords, including some at this vary table are in arrears on their own taxes,” she held up a hand to stop Lord Gleothain from opening his mouth, “I do not think that the farmers who work the land and pay in their fair share, and in other cases more than that, should be punished for the fact that some in this country seemed to have hoarded their wealth in the case that they needed to flee the war!”

“You are accusing us of treason then!?” Lord Gleothain demanded, leaning over the table, snarling, “We had no money, and paid our taxes in men brought to fight Gondor’s war!”

“Then the records would show that, would they not?” Lothiriel asked, “If not, I expect you have someone that could testify to this.”

“We can all testify to each other’s honor, if you are so ready to dismiss our words,” Lord Fulgar slammed his hand on the table, “If we are not to be trusted, and if we are indeed to be accused in such a way, then why even convene these meetings?”

“My lord-”

“You keep your vile words in your mouth!” Lord Fulgar snapped back at the queen, and it was not until he registered the look on her face, did he seem to realize what he had said, and to whom. His own taxes were in arrears, and he feared having his estate taken by the state, a fact that he felt certain that he had made reality by his brashness.

Staring around the table as they bickered with each other, and called out aspersions on her, she felt her rage coiling tight in the hollow of her chest and felt that burning indignation crawl its way up her throat, “Silence!” she screamed when she could take no more of it. She glared at each and every one of them, “I do hope that is not the way in which any of you would ever think of speaking to your king.”

“We would have no cause to do so,” Lord Fulgar snapped.

“Then, you think that he would approve your plan, my lord. You think that he would accept this obscene idea of taking money from the farmers to line our treasury? Do you think that he would approve of your plan to cut pensions for the soldiers and widows of the War?!” Lothiriel nodded her head slowly, “Then we will bench this conversation, and you might see if he would give you a more amiable decision.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Almod stood slowly, holding a hand before him, in some attempt at calming the queen’s temper before she jumped the table at someone, “I beg your pardon, on behalf of myself and all my peers, this matter has sat too long on our minds, and my esteemed colleague has simply tried to work out an agreeable plan. I think that, as you say, it would in fact be best if we adjourn for the day, by your leave, and see if we might find some compromise at a later date.”

Lothiriel’s eyes narrowed a fraction, “We will adjourn, and I hope that you are able to find some alternative plan, if you do indeed think it so pressing as this. Perhaps further tax payments would alleviate the financial strain that you all seem to think that this kingdom is under.”

The Lords of the council stood upright and bowed to her as she collected her ledgers, tucked them under her arm and stormed from the council chamber and made her way to the study.

They would never dare speak to Eomer like that, so why did they think that it was appropriate to speak to her in such a degrading way? Because she was a woman, and a foreigner, and so they thought they could drag her through the muck of their pointed debates. She almost wished that their insults were at least better thought out than the drivel they spouted at her.

She walked across the room to fetch the whiskey that Eomer kept hidden, and poured herself a drink, considering putting out a call for the council to return and have them all work out a compromise here and now. Being seen as a failure and a complete fool that could not manage a simple council meeting was a fear she had ever had.

Taking a drink, she sank into the chair, and leaned over one of the ledgers, a thin book detailing any waiving of taxes, looking at names, years and reasons for the lack of payment. The lords in the Westfold, she understood, but the others… there were a few that had suffered poor crops, but still. Her accusations seemed honest enough, especially judging from the reactions of the lords in question.

The knock at the door, drew her attention and she held the glass out of sight under the desk.

“Enter,” she called, staring at the door, and hoping that someone had come to give her an apology, as if that would save them from her telling Eomer what had been said.

Lord Almod poked his head in nervously, “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. Do you have a moment?”

“Only one,” she replied, giving him a heavy look.

Having closed the door, Lord Almod bowed to her, “I… wanted to see that you were not too distressed by… they do not mean what they say.”

“And yet, those things were said, were they not?”

“Yes. But said in anger, and surely regretted.”

Lothiriel studied the slight man, trying to work out what it was that he wanted. He wanted something, or else he would not be here. In all likelihood, he simply hoped to avoid whatever punishment their lord king would issue for their impudence.

The silence stretched between them as Lothiriel sized Lord Almod up and revealed nothing. Eventually the strain of embarrassment forced the lord to speak once more, “I will speak with my lords and see if there is not some way that they can be brought to beg your pardon.”

Her dark head tilted a little, “What do you think of the proposal that I was given today?”

“That it is beyond what anyone would ever consider decent,” Lord Almod said, “please do remember that our people do not do well in patience and waiting. They see their honor reflected in quick action.”

“I would have you go to them and tell them that if they bring me another proposal that would negatively affect the lives of any of my people, they will be given the same answer again. That will be all,” she dismissed him, wanting to get back to her drink and her notes.

He bowed again and turned to go.

“Thank you, my lord,” Lothiriel said after a moment, almost regretting that she had spoken harshly, but not wanting to be seen as weak either.

“I am at your service, Your Grace,” Lord Almod smiled kindly at her as he left.

She set the cup back on the desk and rubbed at her temples. There was no solution that could not be easily made, save for the fact that none of the men that could make it were inclined to. Either patience or paying their due, and they did not seem to be of a mind to do either.

Eomer could not return soon enough.

0x0x0

Eomer felt a good amount of the stress leaving his shoulders the longer he was afield. There was no danger, as he had promised, though they had encountered a few orcs, they had been put down easily. They had in truth been half starved and for a moment, some small part of Eomer almost pitied the creatures.

His wife’s orders for the trip had been followed to the letter, and though he had considered her demands a little foolish, he now was grateful for the soft bed and the food that Lothiriel had sent with them. He wondered what arrangements she would make whenever the road took him back to war. 

During this sojourn, as had ever been their custom, Eomer and Eothain sat up in the nights talking in the open way that was common to lifelong friends. This was not to say that they did not have such open discussions when they were in Edoras, but there was something about speaking by a campfire that made it different.

Eothain held a flask out to him, “A gift from Her Grace.”

“More likely a bribe to keep me from trouble.”

“Perhaps,” Eothain smiled, “but a poorly considered one, all things considered.”

With a smile, Eomer took a long drink before passing the flask back. He lay down, staring up at the stars overhead.

Though he was far more comfortable than he could ever remember being on a patrol, Eomer was already eager to return home. He wondered if Lothiriel had given his friend alcohol so that they would in fact get into trouble. It was the strange contradictory sort of thing that Lothiriel would do, telling them to behave themselves but with a wink and a knowing look.

They drank more of it than they likely should have, and at some point, they had moved from the fireside, feeling too warm.

“It changes things, when you know that you have a loving woman with open arms waiting for you,” Eothain teased him, breaking the quiet more than the distant crackling fire and the wind had, once they had found a spot that was more comfortable.

“Ah, hush,” Eomer smirked, looking down at his hands, “You may think me mad, but I do miss this.”

“You miss sleeping on the ground and needing to kill your food?” Eothain scoffed.

“I am mad, then?”

“Yes.”

Eomer shrugged, “I suppose that I miss having a simpler life.”

“That is something only ever said by people that have everything,” Eothain replied, “I am a soldier because it is a good wage, and because I love my country. You seek a simpler life than the one that you have, and have always done, because you have never felt that you are worthy of any of it,” Eothain said, studying his friend’s face and watching him put a wall up in front of those words. “You have always hated everything you have because you think that you do not deserve it, and because it will be taken away from you.”

“Hogwash.”

“Even pigs need washing sometimes,” Eothain burst into laughter, finding his own wit to be the best in the known world in that moment, “You need to stop running away from everything when you get too close to actual happiness. It is not good for you.”

“And is that what you do? Run towards happiness?”

“When my king does not drag me across the country so that he might pretend to be something that he is not anymore.”

“You sound like Lothiriel,” Eomer grumbled, “The pair of you might be in collusion then, and I think that is what the whiskey was for. That you would advise me to stay in my house, behind my walls no matter what.”

“No, I simply think that if you need some time away from the court, there are easier ways to have it, and likely more comfortable ones.”

“Are you implying that I should take leave of Meduseld for my own comfort?”

Eothain’s head shifted a little as he mulled it over, “The house at Aldburg has far more comfortable beds, and if perhaps the farms needed to be looked over… or the roof seen to…”

Eomer grinned, “Ah, then it is for your own comfort that you make such suggestions.”

“No, I speak only out of concern for you, Your Majesty. You should not be out in the weather. What if you take a chill, my lord?”

“Fine then, you, git,” Eomer shook his head.

They fell into silence as the alarm seemed to have gone up that the king was not in his tent, and Eomer wondered if Gamling often came to check on him, as if he was a child that needed to be looked in on.

“Shit,” Eothain whispered, chuckling before he pressed hand over his mouth to stop himself laughing, “Do you think we’re going to be in terrible trouble?” He had meant to whisper but could not quite manage it.

“Shut it, or they’ll find us, and then we will be,” Eomer hissed back, pulling his feet up on to the branch.

“I will accept the trouble if someone will get us out of this damn tree!”

“It was your idea!”

“Yes, well, I am an idiot! I have no idea why you ever listen to me!”

They could see the men clamoring over, attracted by the raised voices of the young king and his guard as they squabbled over how they should manage to explain themselves and their ridiculous situation.

Eothain, bless him, sat waving his feet in the air like a child, ignoring Eomer’s orders to stop it at once.

0x0x0

“You simply must explain to them that you are to be listened to,” Lady Baldgwyn said, almost peaceful, “and once you put your foot down, they will fall in line. But you must also be aware of the fact that as a woman, and more importantly, as their queen, you must not reach too far. It would be better if you could coax them to your side rather than beat them into submission.”

Lothiriel sat picking at her cuticles irritably, absorbing Lady Baldgwyn’s advice, and more than anything fighting back the urge to snap at the wise woman. Her gaze shifted to Waerhild who looked at least sympathetically at her and seemed to know what it was that Lothiriel was feeling.

“We must find a way to make them understand that your rejection of their ideas does not come from a place of disregard,” Lady Baldgwyn went on, “and then you will be able to find a compromise.”

“I will not compromise with old men that feel that it is right for them to gang up on me,” Lothiriel said, as if she was finite in her decision, “I will not stoop to so concern myself over their delicate feelings when they have no respect for me.”

“I do wonder what they think Eomer King will do when he returns,” Waerhild said, directing a smirk at Eobrand’s little head as he reached up to her. She leaned forward and picked him up from his basket and set him on her knee as she adjusted the front of her dress to feed her child.

Lady Baldgwyn looked at Waerhild for a moment as if she had forgotten to consider that in any serious way. She stared at Lothiriel, “Will you tell him?”

“Should I not?” Lothiriel raised a brow at the older lady knowing that she would.

Oh, she was going to give Eomer an earful when he returned. She did not outright blame him for the way that she was being treated, but she was not particularly of a mind to pretend that everything had gone as she had anticipated. Yet, she did feel a sense of indignation that Eomer was able to take a break from his duties while Lothiriel was left behind to take care of those responsibilities as well as her own.

It was not that her household duties were difficult, but they were time consuming. Managing the Kingdom left her with hardly any time to manage Hall and the social needs of the court. Perhaps she should have asked for help beyond what Gredda had already given her, but she could not manage it quite yet. She did not want anyone to have the impression that she could not fulfill every duty that was hers.

She settled back in her seat, pulling her feet up under her and scratching at the back of Caelon’s head, thinking sullenly to herself. She wondered if she could find some way to sic the dog on them, or else dismiss them all out of hand. But then she would likely be seen as a tyrant, and any that suspected her of some malice would have some cause to at least call for her removal.

“I would never advise you to lie to your husband, but you might not be entirely prepared for what his temper would be at this,” Lady Baldgwyn said.

“Perhaps that consideration should have been held by the men of the council before they opened their mouths,” Waerhild said.

Lothiriel gestured at her friend, feeling vindicated, “I had thought that perhaps they would not mind my words, but I did not imagine that I would ever be spoken to with such callousness.”

“No, but is the insult worth the cost of their heads?” Lady Baldgwyn asked, “You know your husband. Do you think that there will be any way to convince him against taking vengeance in the name of your honor?”

“I do not think that it should be my concern,” Lothiriel snapped back, finally losing her composure, “What would you have me do? In truth? Would you have me go back to them with my tail between my legs, and beg them for their patience?”

“Of course not!”

“That is what you are telling me to do.”

“I am bidding you to have strength, rather than giving into rage,” Lady Baldgwyn did not raise her voice, or react to Lothiriel’s outburst. She seemed so patient, but there was still something like understanding in her eyes.

“And perhaps I will not have the sort of strength that you seem to want me to have. Why is it that Eomer is allowed to have a temper, but I must bite back on my own?” Lothiriel asked and waited for some validation for her feelings but was faced with the reality of the world.

Lady Baldgwyn smiled gently, and as if she knew exactly how she felt, because of course she had felt the same way, and had experienced the bitterness of holding her feelings back for the benefit of others. There was nothing to be done for it, though. Lothiriel was a queen, and thus was even more obligated to behave in the way that was deemed appropriate for a lady.

“Well?” Lothiriel demanded.

“Do not take that tone with me,” Lady Baldgwyn smirked, her voice lacked the edge that those words should have held. In a way, she understood, and she thought of telling Lothiriel so, but did not think that it would do much good to tell her that she should feel as she did, while telling her to act differently.

A grey eye twitched a little, “I know that you mean to tease me, but I am not in the mood for it.”

“You could always have them dragged into the city center and order them whipped,” Waerhild offered.

“Do not tempt me,” Lothiriel muttered staring out through the window. There had to be something, but she could not think of it.

“You must not let them grind you down,” Waerhild went on, “It seems that they are like the gaggle of misbehaving children. Once one of them thinks that they can get away with something, then the rest of them will do as well.”

“Then what?” Lothiriel asked.

“It sounds childish, I know, but you might simply pretend that nothing has happened.”

“Including that I asked why some of them did not pay their taxes from the last year?”

“During the war, there were some lords that were not able to pay, and so their offering riders was seen as payment,” Lady Baldgwyn said with a slight tensing in her back.

“You mean, the thing that they were already pledged to do?” Lothiriel asked, her head swiveling, “If that is the case, why do the ledgers not reflect that?”

“You remember the state the ledgers were in when you came here.”

“I am wearied by excuses of complete incompetence on every front! Is it to be my responsibility to manage every single thing in this country?!”

Waerhild stared at the normally quiet young lady who had leapt up from her seat and had taken to pacing the room, and railing against every duty that had been put on her shoulders.

“Why is it that nothing was properly cared for, and then when I point out a discrepancy in the books, or in anything, I am seen as wrong?!” Lothiriel demanded.

“My dear lady,” Lady Baldgwyn’s countenance shifted a little, as she realized how upset Lothiriel was, having assumed that to this point that she had only been venting about matters rather than being completely overwhelmed by it all.

“What?” Lothiriel glared at her.

“This has ever been our way,” Lady Baldgwyn’s voice took on a gentler tone, trying to calm her temper, “That is likely the reason for it. And you must remember that for a few years before Theoden King’s death, the governing of the Riddermark was in the keeping of Wormtongue, and Bema knows what all he did.”

Lothiriel’s arms crossed over her chest and she looked away, “Fine, I am just a cow, then.”

“No,” Waerhild said, burping Eobrand, “You are simply overworked.”

“If you need help, you have but to ask,” Lady Baldgwyn said, “I am more than happy to offer any aid that you need, since it seems clear that none of the men on the council are willing to do so.”

“Lord Almod offered,” Lothiriel said.

“But you have not accepted his offer?” Lady Baldgwyn’s smirk was hiding some piece of information, Lothiriel knew, but it was something that she was not going to offer up without prompting.

“No. He seems a bit reaching for my tastes. I think that he would use it to gain more power or influence,” Lothiriel said, her pacing steps slowly for a moment as she thought through her opinion, but she did not still entirely.

“In all likelihood,” Lady Baldgwyn said, “It would be wise to assume that any of them want that and will use you to achieve it. You must be better than all of them, at any cost.”

“Even at the cost my own wellbeing?” Lothiriel asked.

Lady Baldgwyn let out a slow breath, “You know that you must, no matter how much you hate it. That is the price of being queen. You are more than a young lady now, and you must not let them see any weakness in you.”

“Then I should not ask for Lord Fulgar’s head on a silver platter?”

“I would not advise it,” Lady Baldgwyn smiled, “He is not a bad man, but he is rather set in his ways. He will warm to you in time,” she thought for a moment, “I do believe that he is pushing so hard to raise money for the Crown because he feels in some way responsible for the lack of taxes paid by himself and the other lords.”

“Be that as it may, I will not support a plan that would take money from the disadvantaged.”

“From what I have heard,” Waerhild said, with no small measure of care, “a good number of farmers are of the opinion that within two harvests our grain yields will be back where they are.”

“My point exactly!” Lothiriel cried, “And I have said so. I know that it is not what they might want to hear, but why is it that they cannot accept that a plan is already in place? Unless they mean in some way to line their own pockets from whatever schemes they are devising.”

“I doubt they would be likely to think in such a way,” Lady Baldgwyn said, and had meant to go on, but Lothiriel cut her words short.

“My lady, I know that you mean to keep the peace, and to be a rational mind in this, but I do not want to hear you bend your mind over trying to offer up excuses for these men!”

“Is that what you think I am doing?”

“That is what you are doing. As I have said, I understand why, but please, stop. I am certain that in time I will agree with you, but I would rather you offer actual facts to back your reasoning than continue to tell me that they are good men who are simply struggling. A good number of them are twice my age, and yet I must act with more wisdom and level-headed calm than they!”

“You are now acting childish,” Lady Baldgwyn snapped back, “You want me to sit here and pity you because someone was mean to you? You are old enough to know that while the world is stacked against us that we must work with the social rules that we have.”

“How dare you!” Lothiriel all but snarled at the middle-aged lady, the grand dame of the court, “I do not want your pity! I want a viable solution that does not involve groveling!”

“And I have given you one,” Lady Baldgwyn replied, easing a little as her temper abated, “You are young, and I know that it is hard to hear, but you mustn’t go about screaming at everyone. It is not acceptable when the king does it either, but no one is able to tell him that. I give him a year before none of his lords want to propose any plan to him at all.”

“Fine then, I will sit and smile, and not say a damned word,” Lothiriel turned from them, seething, “and we shall see if I will be given any respect in return for holding my tongue and letting the lot of them run me.”

She could hear Lady Baldgwyn rise to her feet, “Your Grace, I apologize for upsetting you. It was not my intention. I will leave you now.”

Lothiriel did not turn around until she heard the door close and felt like an absolute brat. There was nothing in Lady Baldgwyn’s council that was wrong, or malicious. The shame of her behavior, and of taking her bad day out on the kind woman washed over her. Why could she not have taken a few deep breaths and said that she would in fact find some way to make amends with the men of the King’s Council. 

She became entirely too aware of Waerhild. The woman sat quietly, rocking her babe and studying his little face as if she had not just witnessed an argument.

Dropping back into her seat with the offense of everything still coiling in her stomach, Lothiriel stared ahead of her.

Was she only to be given respect when her husband was there to ensure that she had it? It seemed entirely likely now that Eomer’s presence changed the way that people treated her, and she wondered if they had all been waiting for some opportunity to dig their claws in as soon as they could.

Or was this some test? Had they all assumed that she would be easy to manipulate and lead along? Perhaps the council had supported the marriage because they had assumed that her age would lead to a windfall of uncertainty on her part and that when she did need to rule in her husband’s stead that they would be able to do as they wished.

“You know that she does not mean any harm,” Waerhild said quietly, trying to get Eobrand to take his nap.

“I do,” Lothiriel admitted, “and I will apologize, but is it too much for her to not need to feel…” she faltered trying to think of the word for her thoughts, “superior?”

Waerhild tilted her head, smirking a little, “You know, too, that that is not what she is doing. Lady Baldgwyn is a realist.”

“Do you think that I have overreacted?”

“Not in the least. I think that Eomer would tell you that you should have leapt the table at them, but you know that you must be an adult about this whole mess.”

Lothiriel rubbed at her temples, “I just want them to behave themselves, since I must do.”

“They are, as I said, like children and they are simply trying to test the boundaries. If you show them that you are not going to be intimidated by them, they will fall in line.”

“Perhaps.”

“That is all that Lady Baldgwyn was trying to say, but she is so used to being a mother hen to us all that sometimes she forgets that she is speaking to grown people.”

“Do not try to make me feel guilty,” Lothiriel narrowed her eyes, a teasing current running through her words.

Waerhild chuckled, “I would never, my lady.” She stood carefully, “Would you hold him for a moment? I must excuse myself for a moment.”

Lothiriel took the baby carefully, not wanting him to wake up and start fussing and thanked whatever luck there was that Eobrand simply shifted a little and slept on.

He was a sweet child, though it was taken for granted that he would be, as he was too young yet to run about or cause any sort of havoc on his own yet. His little fingers curled around one of hers as he slept, and she felt a sudden thrill at the prospect of having her own child.

Lothiriel had until that point been more eager for a child out of the duty of it than wanting a child, though from time to time she had considered what it would be like to have a family. She had wondered what her children would look like, how they would be, but this felt a little different somehow.

She ran a fingertip over his knuckle, before realizing that Waerhild was looking at her, “He sleeps well,” Lothiriel said quietly, handing the child back over to his mother when Waerhild reached for him, and felt a small pang. It was not envy, but more that he was adorable, and she wanted to hold him.

Waerhild’s eyes widened and she bit back a laugh, “He never sleeps through the night. Eothain does try to help, but he is rather useless.”

“He is a man after all,” Lothiriel smirked, “though perhaps I am being unkind, and being guided only by my own annoyance.”

“It will all be managed in time,” Waerhild said, “It is only the first time that you have been in this position and so it seems all the more dreadful for that.”

0x0x0

Eomer considered the leisure of fishing, having not ever really considered how much he enjoyed it. He made a note to himself that he should thank Lothiriel for ensuring that he and his men had brought enough food with them that he if he did not manage to catch any fish that they would not go to bed hungry.

Having extricated himself and Eothain from trouble, that being one of the privileges of being king, he found himself at peace and enjoying the quiet of nature and of the leisure of his time afield.

The pair of them stood together, breathing easier than they had for some time, certain that all was well at home, and that when they returned in a few days that all would be minded and orderly.

0x0x0

The council table had been set differently than normal. The water lug was joined with tea and cakes. It was not opulent but did have an air of comfort that Lothiriel hoped would have a positive effect on the men, and she was a little pleased to hear that a few of them had looked over the offering with a good deal of confusion.

Lord Gleothain, being the youngest of the lords, and having taken the council seat after his father’s passing, served himself without the hesitance of his peers, and taking the olive branch at this face value. The others sat by watching him for any sign of poisoning before they served themselves.

When the guards opened the doors for the queen, the men quickly got to their feet, their nervous chattering over what they ought to do about the upset at the meeting the day before stopped entirely.

Lothiriel took a great deal of care to maintain the mask of indifference as she stood at her chair at the council table, her books and parchments in hand and ready to work. “My lords,” she smiled politely before taking her seat and gesturing for them all to do the same, “what is on our schedule for the day?”

She was trying to take Lady Baldgwyn’s words to heart, and to pretend that nothing had happened. When she had first come to the Riddermark, she might have been far more inclined to act in this way without needing to be told so. It was not that she now looked down her nose at formality, but more that Eomer had spent so much time telling her to do so, and she was out of practice in accepting the disdain of others.

No, it was not quite that, either. She had always had a temper and had done so much work to hide that fact, but even when she had been in her uncle’s care, and had disagreed with his councilors, they had never openly spoken to her with anything other than respect. She had never had her intelligence questioned by men who were in possession of power or influence.

For all the mistrust that her new countrymen held for their southern neighbors, and for all of their thoughts of the overdone formality of Gondor, they were a nation that valued learning and intelligence.

Lord Fulgar cleared his throat as he stood, “There are some news of the Sweating Sickness in some of our Northern Settlements.”

“And what has been done so far?” Lothiriel asked, her brow furrowing a little.

“The villages have been quarantined,” Lord Fulgar said, clearly waiting for her to tell them that they had blundered.

“Good,” Lothiriel nodded, “Which villages have been affected?” She listened, paging through one of her ledgers for the region, taking the village names into account and pondering over the numbers. “Has medical aid been given thus far?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Medical Houses have been set up, and I believe that, if possible, the Crown should provide food to the areas to ensure that the quarantine is able to be held.”

“I agree,” Lothiriel said, “Let us put orders in place that people should stay in their houses…” she scanned down a column of stores, “We have enough grain that can be spared for this purpose. And I should like to be kept abreast of any developments that can be reported. Do we know the source of the infection?”

“Your Grace,” Lord Alcread said with no small measure of nerves, and seeming hesitant to speak at all, “The illness is never long lasting enough to be able to study it.”

She smiled gently, “I am aware, my lord. I meant only to ask if there is any news of other outbreaks in our neighboring nations. If there has been, should we consider closing the Northern border?” she adjusted her breathing a little to affect a faint blush, “Though perhaps it would be right that we would do anyway to ensure that the sickness does not spread.”

Lord Alcread nodded, “We have not heard of any cases abroad, but then this news came to us rather quickly.”

“Thank be!” Lothiriel said with a small sigh, “Then it is agreed that the villages will be closed, and our border…”

“We will send some riders to secure the border in the area, and they will be able to send relays to alert us to any further news,” Lord Fulgar said.

“Has…” she stopped short and looked over the men, “The King rode West, did he not?”

“As far as we are aware, there is no risk to him or his Eored,” Lord Fulgar was studying her.

“Good,” she sighed out, “Well, it seems that you have it in hand, thank you, my lords for taking this seriously. What else is there?”

The meeting went through with little upset, and she wondered if they had all been told off by their wives for speaking to her in the way that they had, or if they had all of them realized that Lothiriel Queen would likely tell her husband of their behavior when he returned, and if they all lived in active fear of what would happen when Eomer was back in that seat. It might do them all well to have some terror.

When the matters of State were managed and finished, she stood, and sorted her papers and books into her little organization system and stood, giving the lot of them a small smile and withdrawing. Once the door was closed, she stood a moment, listening as their previous discussion picked back up again. It sounded as though they were trying to decide which of them would go and ensure that Lothiriel Queen was not plotting their deaths.

With a small smirk she went back to the study to await their decision.

Lord Almod stood, “I will speak to Her Grace. I have already spoken to her on this matter, and I do think that she will be receptive to me in a way that she might not be to any of the rest of us.”

“You would say so,” Lord Alcread snorted, “For all of your argument against the Gondorian Match, you seem keen to cover her with your wing. I should think you are only thinking of your own ambitions as ever.”

Almod’s face darkened, “I had not realized that apologizing was such a political matter.”

“That is not what my lord Alcread is saying, I think,” Lord Gleothain said, having decided that pocketing the rest of the cakes would not be decently seen. He hesitated “May I suggest Lord Fulgar, as Lothiriel Queen might be of the opinion that an apology from him would have more weight as he was the first to speak against her?”

Lord Fulgar frowned, but nodded still, “I dare say.”

“Then the mighty Fulgar will go any eat crow then?” Lord Almod laughed, “Perhaps we should see if we might arrange this thing to be done publicly, therefore children may tell the story of how so mighty a lord was brought to heel by a little girl.”

The other lords stared at Almod, trying to work out what had possessed him to say such a thing, beyond the feud between them, but then Almod had always said such inappropriate things and had always only realized it after he had spoken. But then, they had all spoken without thought, a fact that had landed them in this very position.

Narrowing his eyes, Lord Fulgar’s head tilted a fraction, “If it would appease you, but I do not think it decent to let such ill feelings sit between the Crown and the Council. By your leave, my lords, I will go now and speak with Her Grace.” He had of course had his own nomination for this charge, but now it would hardly seem right to point out that Lord Gleothain was the most likely to actually succeed, being the most likely to approach the Queen with nervousness.

Bowing to his peers, Fulgar left the council to go make the apologies that were due. In truth, he had felt dreadful over the entire debacle, and was well aware that his temper had gotten the better of him, and for the reasons that Lothiriel Queen had thought. He hated having his own shortcomings thrown back in his face, and having it done by a woman, none the less. It was foolish, and he had no real excuse for it, but it was what it was.

At the large door of The King’s Study, he hesitated before knocking. At the sound of her voice, he froze a moment longer, trying to decide what exactly he needed to say.

He had been in this room countless times before, and he could not quite explain his nerves now. Perhaps Gleothain was not any better suited as he himself was. With a breath, Fulgar entered the study, and saw the young queen leaning over her books, her fingers hovering over the abacus beads as she had been shifting.

Lothiriel Queen gave him a polite smile, “My lord Fulgar,” she stood, and came around the desk offering her hand to him, “How may I help you?”

Having bowed over her hand, Fulgar stood back up, “I had simply wanted to express my regrets over the… way that you were spoken to yesterday.”

“Think nothing of it. In my experience if everyone agrees on matters of taxation something is likely amiss,” she waved a dismissive hand at his words, and he believed her absolute graciousness, she could see it in the way that his face shifted. It was not that he was filled with relief, but more that he felt all the worst for it. It was possible that standing face to face with her, seeing her more as a young woman, and who had the kindness of soul not to hold a grudge made him feel even more like a cad. For a moment, she considered actually letting the matter go, but she was not so kind as that, and she would remember his roaring voice for a while yet.

“May I offer you some coffee?” Lothiriel smiled sweetly.

Lord Fulgar had begun to refuse the offer, but thought better of it, “If it would not be a burden to you, Your Grace. There are some points of policy that I should like to discuss with you, if it would be alright.”

“That is a good idea,” she said, with a sigh, “I should likely have thought to ask for more help on understanding these matters, rather that leaping in headfirst,” she pulled on a cord which rang a bell out in the hall to bring a servant.

After a moment one of the serving girls opened the door and curtsied, “May I help you, Your Grace?”

Lothiriel smiled, “Yes, Widryth. Could you please bring some coffee for Lord Fulgar and for myself?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the slight girl smiled and curtsied again before leaving to take up the charge.

Lord Fulgar took a seat in front of the desk when the Queen gestured for him to do so, studying the young woman, and her graceful movements as she sat, her back ramrod straight.

“I do apologize if I am being pigheaded, but I do not think that my lord husband would agree to cut any spending to any of the services that we offer to our poorer citizens,” Lothiriel said, her face composed in a sort of delicate nervousness, “which I agree with, but I worry that such an opinion coming from me seems…”

He continued to study her face, “I am sure you speak truly, and I do not wish to have any schism between the Crown and the advisors thereof. There is some that feel that to sit and wait is not a way in which governance ought to be done.”

She nodded, “Yes… but sometimes rash action does not have the impact that we would hope for.”

“Should we then…” Lord Fulgar caught the look on Lothiriel’s face and stopped himself. He let out a sigh, “Your Grace, those of us that have been unable to pay our taxes this past year feel as if we have failed our country, and such feelings have a way of making men, well, rash, as you say.”

“I of course understand that. I know the fear of failure, I can assure you of that, my lord. I live with that fear every day.”

The older man tilted his head, having not considered the queen as more than what she appeared until this day. She had always presented herself as so certain of herself and almost distant in some way, as if she was not in truth a person, but more a fair maiden that one would hear of in old lore. Lothiriel Queen had ever seemed as if she was the sort of lady that would be placed firmly on a pedestal, far above fear or touch.

Lothiriel’s smile was sad in a way that struck Lord Fulgar through, and it seemed as though she realized it a moment too late and then looked rather embarrassed, her wide eyes shooting downwards suddenly.

She looked down at her folded hands, “I would rather you keep anything that I have said in confidence, as I doubt anyone should ever like to hear of the plight of a queen. Such things lead to…” she hesitated as if trying to think out the words, “It might make a person the subject of ridicule or…” she let out a small breath, “People would laugh at me, and think me terribly foolish.”

The door opened and Widryth returned with coffee before Lord Fulgar could answer her. He could see the nerves fall from her face as she smiled and offered her thanks. Lothiriel Queen made a very good show of serving coffee.

As he watched the Queen, he realized that she was younger than any of his daughters, and he could hardly imagine the amount of pressure on her, and all the more for his own behavior. She looked at him with a blush and her wide grey eyes sparkled a little.

“I do not think anyone would think you foolish. They would more likely consider you human,” Lord Fulgar said diplomatically.

She let out a pealing giggle, “That is worse!”

He chuckled, “Perhaps so. Thank you.” He accepted the coffee she held out to him, “Power is a strange thing. People want it until they have it.”

She nodded, “Well said. Though, I should say I never wanted it. I only ever wanted… I beg your pardon. I do not mean to go on so. We have more important matters to discuss than my own self-pity.” She set her cup aside, “Now… where to begin…”

Lord Fulgar wanted to ask what it was that the queen had meant to say before stopping herself. He would keep her confidences, but he would have a difficult time forgetting the few things she had said to him.

He knew that a few of the members of court did consider her too young to be taken seriously beyond being a pretty face to stand by their King, and he wondered if she had meant to say that she had only ever wanted to trust in the people around her. It was a wish that he could sympathize with, having known that having influence meant having people only seek your company for their own benefit, and wondered if that was the reason that Lothiriel Queen kept her close social circle as small as she had. Perhaps the departure of Lady Leowella had felt as a sort of betrayal to Lothiriel Queen, even as she had given her blessing over it.

After a few hours of political discussion and some debate, Lord Fulgar was forced to leave, by other engagements, and Lothiriel Queen sorted her things before returning to her sitting room.

Lady Baldgwyn looked up from the household accounts, “How did it go?”

“Rather well I think, as long as I did not overdo it,” Lothiriel smiled, “I may have added my own touches to your ideas of strength, but…” her shoulders shifted a little.

Shaking her head, Lady Baldgwyn sighed, “I never told you to not be yourself, only to not call for revolt against the advisors.”

Lothiriel sank into a chair, “I think Fulgar will hold his tongue, but I think, too, that he will be far more sympathetic to my causes in future. I should likely feel guilty for deceiving him…”

“Oh, hush,” Lady Baldgwyn scoffed, shifting a little as she stretched, “We all must play the cards that life has dealt us. If he wants to be prickly then you can hardly be blamed for taking advantage of the soft heart that is under all his irritability.”

Lothiriel let out a scandalized gasp, “My lady!”

“Had I thought of it myself, I would have cut most of my council short and advised you to give them a pitiful look with those big eyes of yours.”

Lothiriel gave her that look of wide-eyed innocence, and nervousness, looking down and then back up with an embarrassed smile for a moment before that smile widened self-consciously, “You will never tell, will you? I have always tried to avoid having anyone’s sympathy to achieve things, as it always seemed… well, beneath me, I suppose. My achievements should be mine because I earn them, because my mind is good, not because my face is tolerable.”

The older leaned closer, “Consider it this way, you thought up a way to cripple your main opponent. It should not matter how you managed it, but that you did.”

Lothiriel relaxed a little, “How was your day? Were there any troubles in the household?”

“Nothing that cannot be managed,” Lady Baldgwyn gestured her over so that she could explain what social engagements forthcoming and what matters were requiring attention.

Perhaps she should have asked for help sooner, but at least Lady Baldgwyn was not the sort that would hold it over her head a least. She would never boast about her usefulness or spread the word about that Her Grace had been so stubborn as she had been, or that she had all but begged for aid. Lady Baldgwyn seemed happy to be of service for that fact alone.

Reaching out without thought, Lothiriel took Lady Baldgwyn’s hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze and was relieved that the hand that she clung to did not recoil or sit limp in her holding, but squeezed back at hers.


	3. Chapter 3

The first sight of The Hall’s roof glinting in the distance stirred something in Eomer’s heart, a feeling that he was not entirely unused to. He had always felt a sense of homecoming when he saw Edoras coming into view, ever since he had become a soldier. That feeling was intensified by knowing that Lothiriel was there, waiting for him, that she was so close as that.

Eomer reined Firefoot in, having a moment of sentimentality that he would not speak aloud, certain that he would be mocked for it, either aloud or in the minds of his men. This was the first time that he had felt this specific feeling, and he wanted to remember it. He wanted to remember the feeling of returning to his loving wife for the first time.

It was only a brief moment, and as soon as he had tucked that feeling away, he urged Firefoot on, eager to see his wife, to hold her, even if she might scold him for leaving. He hoped that any vexation on her part would be long passed by now and was certain that she would be as happy to see him.

They rode through the city, and Eomer was distantly aware of the people about who had come to see the king and his men, or to call out their blessings. The sight of Lothiriel at the top of the stairs made him all the more desperate to be by her side, and he did a thing that he rarely ever had and handed the reins off to a stable hand as soon as he had dismounted. Having given a few words of instruction on Firefoot’s care and ordering him to be fed all the oats he wanted, Eomer darted up the stairs.

“My lord,” Lothiriel held the ceremonial welcome cup out to him and curtsied low, her eyes demurely downcast, but there was a playful smile on her lips. She was wearing the dress that he had told her was his favorite, and he could not decide if she had put it on at hearing that he was coming, or if it was the sweetest turn of fate.

That was the moment that Eomer was reminded of the eyes on them, and of the protocols for these instances. He took the cup from her hands and held it in blessing over his men before draining it and passing it quickly to Mistress Gredda and ensuring that it was in her hands, he snatched Lothiriel up in his arms and kissed her, happy to be home and with her.

Her small hands clasped at his shoulders, and she let out a small giggle as soon as he released her, “My lord.”

Stooping a little, he pressed his brow against hers, his nose rubbing against hers, “I have so missed you, my dear love.”

Lothiriel gave him a stern look, “And I have missed you, but… my lord…” she looked pointedly past his arm at his men who to a one looked as if they were either trying not to laugh, or else grinned.

He almost blushed, and cleared his throat, “Ah… My good men! There is food and ale in the hall.”

Lothiriel gestured to the door, “please do help yourselves!”

That seemed to be enough to break the interest of all of the men assembled there. They filed past, bowing one by one to their queen, a few begging her pardon if they were to see their wives first and then return to accept her hospitality. She was intrigued that those men had not parted off at once, but in the way that she understood their obligation to duty, and only that she could not quite imagine Eomer doing the same in their position. Clearly, he was incapable of stopping himself from getting his hands on her as soon as there was no physical obstruction to it.

She took his arm, smiling up at him and fought the urge to swat at his arm in response to the look that he was giving her, “You will mingle and eat something while your bath is being prepared.”

“A bath?” Eomer asked, smiling, and following after the last of the men, “Perhaps I would have taken a wife sooner if I knew the benefits of it.”

Eothain had not run to his own house, having guessed that Waerhild would be in the hall, a guess that was correct, and Lothiriel smiled as he kissed Waerhild’s cheek and hefted Eobrand up over his head. The pair of them looked as happy as Lothiriel felt.

“Might I eat later?” Eomer asked, his lips brushing against Lothiriel’s ear.

“Had you not left me with your advisors, I might have said yes,” she whispered back, grinning up at him, a hard, teasing smile.

His face fell, “Has there been trouble, then?”

“I will tell you later,” she said quickly as Lord Fulgar approached them, “but be nice, as he and I are presently on good terms.”

Before Eomer was able to question her further, Lord Fulgar was there in front of him, bowing and asking for news of the realm, and Lothiriel’s hand was sliding from the crook of his arm. It was rather a surprise after her words that Lord Fulgar extolled the virtues of her governing abilities. There was a small mention made of some arguments, but no details were given, and Eomer was distinctly aware of a tirade that Lothiriel was likely to make later.

“She truly is a marvel, sire,” Lord Fulgar said, noting the way that Eomer’s eyes sought her out from time to time.

“I know it,” Eomer smiled back, “What was that argument over?”

“The taxes,” Lord Fulgar said, tactfully, and fell quiet.

Eomer raised a brow, staring at the older man, and waiting for some explanation, both to why an argument had broken out, and why this issue, which was hardly one at all, had been brought up yet again.

“The matter is for the most part resolved, but you know how heated such debate can be,” Lord Fulgar did have the good sense to look a little ashamed by whatever had happened, “but your lady Queen did come through rather well, and I doubt that any will think to cross her again.”

“Was she crossed?”

After a moment spent hesitating, Lord Fulgar nodded, “Tempers ran a little high, and I will admit that I was wrong.”

A silence stretched between them for a moment, and Eomer did not realize that his quiet might have been interpreted as displeasure rather than the shock that it was. He could not remember any of his advisors ever offering admissions of guilt without being pressed to do so, Fulgar most of all. He was a proud man who made his apologies in the form of services rendered after the fact, or support given. What had happened that the proud man had been compelled to admit that he had not acted as he should have done.

The look that Fulgar gave him reminded Eomer that he might need to speak in some way, as him standing there, shocked into silence was likely to be taken wrong, “As long as all is now well?”

“Yes, my lord king,” Fulgar gave a grimace that was likely meant to be a reassurance but somehow was not entirely so. He did his best to soften his features, and to not fear that the word would come to Eomer King of what had happened, regardless of the fact that the matter had been resolved. Anything that came of his outburst would only be of his own making, and he would do his best to face His Majesty's temper with dignity. In truth, though he was loath to admit it, he had privately spoken on Her Grace’s behalf when he had heard even a hint of disapproval of her. 

Eomer nodded, feeling as if this conversation was a moot point in its entirety, but that it was important somehow. “We will discuss this at some later time. If that is all…?”

“Yes, my lord King.”

“Have the council convene tomorrow morning, then,” Eomer said, a serious tone in his voice, “We will discuss what has been done in my absence.”

He went through the obligation of speaking with a few of the other members of the court before Lothiriel took his arm in her careful hold and said, “I do beg your pardon, but I am sure that His Majesty requires some rest after so long afield.”

Eomer wondered if Lothiriel felt that he had been punished enough, and he did not feel in any real way put out about having been put through the dreaded act of socializing. Though he felt that he deserved rewarding for having behaved himself well, even if he had done so with a fair amount of awkwardness, as he was in fact more tired than he wanted to admit.

He rested his hand over hers and trailed along with her back and up the stairs into their rooms, and smiled as Caelon bounded about the room, clearly pleased to see his master again and having assured himself that Eomer was in fact there leapt up and pressed his paws on Eomer’s shoulders to lick at his face.

“Ah, have you been good?” Eomer asked, stooping to hold the dog’s face in his hands, ruffling the shaggy fur as he did, “Have you been staying out of trouble?”

“Save that he got up if I ever went to use the night pot, he has been rather difficult to persuade to do something other than watch me,” Lothiriel teased, going through to check the water’s temperature.

“You let him sleep in here?” Eomer asked, as if shocked, his chuckle breaking the pretense of dismay of the fact that his proper lady had likely spoiled their dog in his absence. As soon as he set the dog back on his paws, Caelon leaned against his leg, his tail wagging, even as Eomer tried to gently push him away.

“I was rather lonely,” Lothiriel called, “though I do wonder if you should think to be jealous of him once more.”

“Should I be?”

“Well,” Lothiriel said, thoughtfully, “he did not go running off…”

“Oh, I see!” Eomer smiled at her, his fingers starting on the buckles of his armor, wanting to get himself free of his clothes as quickly as he was able, and warm the bed that he had left cold in recompence for his wife’s loneliness. He had enjoyed his break from court life, but perhaps he might find some way to bring her with him next time he went on patrol. His camp cot could fit the pair of them quite comfortably.

She watched him with some amusement as he tried to reach the ties at the back of his armor. Having watched him flail awkwardly for a moment, she gave in and went to help him. “You know he looks for you when you are not here, and whines terribly,” she went on, finally getting the back of his leather covered armor unlaced, not quite through with the guilting, “He just pokes his little head up to the windows.”

Eomer frowned, “He does not…”

With a small sound of affirmation, Lothiriel put the breastplate into the trunk at the end of the bed, “He seems contented to have my company, but does not seem to think of it as the same.”

“I think that you, my dear lady, are simply trying to make me feel badly, and I will not fall for it,” Eomer smirked, pulling his shirt over his head, and tossed it into the laundry basket before stooping to take his boots off.

Lothiriel glanced at him, an appreciate look in her eyes.

Without a shred of hesitation, Eomer made his way over to her, “I did miss you terribly, darling.”

“I know,” she smiled, running a hand over his arm to his shoulder, feeling the muscles corded under his skin. She gave him a smile, and patted his shoulder, “Now, to your bath, husband.”

“I will in time,” he murmured, catching her face in his hand, wanting to kiss her, “First I must show you how terribly I have longed for your company.”

“No,” she pushed him back gently, “You have not bathed in days, I can tell. Now get yourself in the bath!”

He studied her for a moment, “I see now how giving you power has changed you!”

“Indeed,” she grimaced, annoyed at the truth of it that she knew, that she had hardly any power of her own, and that she had to play act to gain the respect of those around her. She adjusted her features, not wanting to worry him, or need to discuss all that had happened yet, “You have not yet taken the seal from my keeping, and so you must do as I bid.”

“I would do whatever you told me to, regardless of what powers of state you have,” Eomer smirked, but bowed his head, “Your Grace.”

“And yet…” she gave him a look, and a gentle push.

He shouldn’t like to admit it, but there was something that endeared him to her bossy tone and was at least more than a little pleased that if she was still cross with him, she might take some vengeance from him. It was a marked change from the way she had been when they first were wed, and there were worse penalties to be given than a hot bath.

Having taken time away from her, the changes in her were far more pronounced than they had felt before, when he had seen the gradual change over the months and thought little of them, save the ones that were necessary, or that were caused by him and his inability to keep his mouth closed as far as she was concerned.

Lothiriel Queen felt rather like any other wife at present, in that she had told him to do something that he had not been particularly minded to just yet, and she was not taking excuses as to why her will was not being done. She was pushing him gently along, as if she he was a child, and he bit back a laugh at it, stooping to take off his trousers and stockings as he went, making a grand show of his compliance, while also throwing her off balance from time to time as he leaned back against her. It took a good amount of her self-control not to shove him into the bath.

When he did finally sink into the water, Eomer let out a relaxed sigh. The hot water eased some of the soreness from his muscles. He flinched as she tossed a bar of soap into the bathwater next to him and was rewarded by his wife’s giggles as she handed him a washcloth.

Reaching out, Eomer snatched at her, meaning to drag her in to the water with him, and let out a grumble as she twisted out of his reach, pulling her skirt out of his hand.

“None of that now, love,” she tutted, kneeling behind him, smiling as he dunked himself under the water.

She liked washing his hair, strange a thing as her family would likely think it. They would likely not be sure what to make of the fact that he braided her hair every night, but it was the same sort of domestic intimacy that they were given to and enjoyed. These were moments snatched away for just them.

His head popped back up from the water and he shook his head, spraying her in the process. Lothiriel threw her hands up to shield herself, a completely useless attempt and she glared as Eomer looked back at her with what he must have thought looked to be innocence as if he had not done it on purpose.

“Oh, my dear!” Eomer grinned at her, “Well, you might as well join me, since you are already drenched.”

“If you wanted me to bathe with you, you could have simply asked.”

Eomer turned around, leaning against the tub, his forearms folding so he could rest his chin on them, “Will you?”

“No,” she smirked at his pouting face, “How was your patrol?”

Seeing that he was not going to have his own way, Eomer turned back around and scrubbed the soap against the washcloth, “Will you be terribly cross with me if I tell you that it was exactly what I needed?”

“No,” she smiled working a lather of the fine hair soap that she had brought with her from Gondor, that would make his hair smell of roses. She had washed his hair with this soap before and he had rather liked the scent of it, knowing full well that those that would have teased him about it had already been told off for being fools. She went on, “I know that you needed a rest, and might have a better understanding of why you should need one.”

“What is it that I have missed? Why is Lord Fulgar now your champion?” Eomer asked, washing his leg, “Will I be quite displeased?”

“Perhaps,” she said massaging the suds into his scalp and smiling to herself at the way that he relaxed into her hands, all other cleaning seemingly forgotten. “They were on about raising more coin, and their plans to do so were… not in agreement with my own thoughts. I might have pointed out that a few of them could be labeled with blame on that account, and it dissolved into a screaming match.”

Eomer’s head shot out of her hands and he looked back at her, “What was said?” he likely thought that he made a frightening image of kingly terror, and might have done if not for the suds in his hair.

She smiled at him, trying not to laugh, “It hardly matters now, love,” she murmured, and gestured for him to turn back, “besides, I turned the charms of youth on Lord Fulgar, so I doubt he will give me any more trouble?”

He stared at her still, “In what way did you affect him?”

With a nervous smile smile, Lothiriel sighed before putting on the wide-eyed look of concern and embarrassment that had achieved her goal, “Oh, my lord advisor, you must know that I would so hate to cause discord,” she said in a desperately sad voice before she looked at Eomer again, not certain what he would say to that.

Eomer rolled his eyes and sucked his teeth. He turned back to his washing, annoyed that such pretenses of feminine weakness had worked and that she had needed them, but pleased that Lothiriel had managed the situation, even if to his mind there should never have been one, “What was the plan this time?”

The hesitation hung between them as Lothiriel tried to consider the least damaging way to describe it, “Simply by cutting certain benefits that our government gives to the less fortunate.” She did not feel the need to tell him about the taxing of farmers or the cutting of soldier’s and widow’s pensions, not yet. “Did you hear about the Sweat in the North?”

“I had, actually,” Eomer said, working the suds over his arm, “The quarantine seems to stand well, from what the gossips say.”

“Yes,” she replied, “The sickness seems to be slowing, and no one is starving, at least.” She tilted Eomer’s head back and cupped her hand over his hairline to shield his eyes as she rinsed the soap from his hair. His face, relaxed again, and it made her smile. She dropped a kiss against his forehead before releasing his head.

She regaled him with the rest of the matters that had been brought up, nothing of serious note, but which she still wanted him to know. He was King, even if he had not been present, he needed to know what plans had been made and what policies she had signed in his name, few though they were. The governing of the Riddermark seemed to be simple, at least it did to her, given the ability to look back on it all.

He passed her the washing cloth, “Would you?”

Taking the cloth, she scrubbed gently over his back, where he could reach and where he could not. The dear man leaned this way and that as she worked, and for a moment she considered taking her clothes off and climbing in with him, and just soaking. The only thing that stopped her was that she knew him well enough to know that at present he would not be contented to simply sit, and she did not want to make any more work for anyone that would have to clean. Hauling away the bath would be enough work without needing to mop the entire floor.

“Am I clean enough for you, my lady?” Eomer asked, leaning his head back to look at her.

“I suppose,” she teased, getting to her feet, and dropped a thick drying cloth on the floor, “at least you are as clean as you are likely to be.”

He stood up, as ever not caring too terribly about his nakedness, and almost prideful of the way that Lothiriel looked at him again before tossing him another drying cloth.

“Will you not help me?” he asked.

“You are a grown man,” she laughed, “I will take our very good boy to his room while you make yourself presentable.”

Watching her go, he puffed out a breath as he dried himself off.

Presentable, indeed. As if she expected him to simply go back out into the Hall, freshly cleaned and shiny. They had been separated for a few weeks now, but that was hardly enough time for her to have forgotten his ways. Unless it was her plan to slowly torture him. It was possible, and a sort of devious game that he had, in truth, not considered. This idea, of course, intrigued him and he might have been of a mind to wait her out and see what she would tell him to do next, had he not been without her company or attentions for a little more than two weeks.

With the fact of the time that they had spent apart as the basis for what Lothiriel might take as disobedience, he climbed up into their bed and tried to decide which pose would be best suited to seduce her.

Lothiriel returned to their chambers, and looked about for her husband, taking the quiet in the room as a clear sign of mischief, and so prepared her features to not betray her, no matter what she found. She was not entirely able to consider every possible thing, and so almost smiled at Eomer when she found him spread suggestively over the coverlet, his brow quirked at her.

He did make a pretty picture, and she studied him for a moment as she decided what she should do next, “My lord husband, what are you doing?”

“You ordered me to make myself presentable, and so I am presenting myself for your inspection and approval,” he replied with a smirk.

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying not to laugh, or break the regal character that she had been playing thus far, though a smile did betray her, “That is not what I meant.”

“Well, then, you should have expressed yourself better,” he murmured, the low roll of his voice sent a thrill through her that she fought to control as he shifted his weight on his elbow, leaning toward her a little.

“I did not think that I needed to spell out my wishes to you,” she said, tilting her chin a little, deciding that controlling her smile was a feat not worth the effort, “I should have thought that I had made myself perfectly clear.”

“What is it then, that you wish me do?” Eomer asked, “As ever, I am yours to command, my lady.”

Though she could bring on the coloring in her cheeks if she wished, she could not stop it from coming on naturally.

“Would you like me to beg?” Eomer asked, his smirk widening into that boyish grin that hardly anyone ever saw, and with a dark glint to it that was only for her.

“I suppose that would depend on what you meant to beg for,” she said after considering his words.

“My dearest love, I am naked in our bed. I feel that it is rather apparent what I would beg you for.”

She smirked, “Well, my lord, most of the court is out in the hall, as it is the middle of the day. Have you considered that?”

“And you look so beautiful,” he retorted, “Have you considered that?”

Her wit, and ability to devise a retort was one of the things that she was proudest of in herself, but she was at a complete loss for anything to say in response to his flattery. She had not yet been able to work out any sort of thing to say back when he said such things, all the more for the fact that he seemed to always mean it.

She sighed, as if completely dejected at having lost the debate, “I suppose you make a decent point, then.” She let out a giggle at the exclamation of success, and reached behind her back to untie her dress. She let the garment fall away and pool at her feet before she kicked her shoes away.

Of course, she had missed him, and his presence in their bed, but she had meant to put this reunion off a bit longer out of some pettiness or other, but perhaps she had punished him enough. Teasing him further, would only mean that she would be withholding from herself.

Eomer grinned at her, but did not move from his position, watching her as she crawled up beside him, waiting as patiently as he could for her to kiss him, or tell him what she wanted.

She straddled him, still wearing her kirtle, but pulling the skirt of it up a little so it would not hinder her movements. Hovering over him, Lothiriel brushed his damp hair back from his face, “Go on then,” she smirked, her fingertips stoking over his cock.

His brow furrowed a little, stopping himself from pushing up against her.

“Beg,” her fingers tightened around him for a moment before removing her hand entirely.

Grinning, he pressed a hand over his heart, “please, my dearest love, please. I beg you.”

She grasped him again, shifted her hips, rubbing against him, letting him feel the velvety wetness of her desire, “For what?”

He reached down to grasp her thighs, but she swatted his hands away, and rubbed against him again, a slow movement that drove almost drove him mad, “I beg you to take me. I need to be in you, love.”

She rubbed the tip of her nose against his, “And if I say no?”

He leaned up, trying to catch her lips but she moved just out of his reach, and he let out a groan before laying back, “I will do as you bid, and suffer your rejection,” He looked at her, a smile playing over his lips, “I will only do what you order.”

The smile she gave him was almost feral, “We cannot have you suffering…” she ran the tips of her fingers down his chest, making every hair stand on end. She decided that she rather liked this game.

He wanted her to stop toying with him, but at the same time he wanted to prolong this moment as long as possible, “You are such a kind soul, dearest,” he grinned up at her, his words cut short as she slid onto him, taking him to the hilt.

She sat up, her hips rolling slowly, and with that coy look that she so often gave him, she unlaced the front of her kirtle slowly, blushing a little as his darkened gaze fell from her face down to the laces, and the flesh that was exposed in slow measures.

He sat up, shifting a little, feeling all of her tight sex squeezing him, and looked up at her again before as she peeled the shoulders of the kirtle down to expose her breasts. A small sigh left him as he drank in the sight of her and as she slowed her movements all the more, “May I?” the question left with a feeling of happiness as her hands caught his shoulders, her legs wrapping themselves around him and crossing behind his back.

She grinned, “Yes.”

He ran a thumb over one of her hardened nipples and watched as that small nub of flesh moved under his thumb. His other hand sprawled over the small of her back arching her, to give him better access to her breasts and he placed careful kisses and bites over every inch of exposed skin, smiling at the small intake of breath she gave, and the way that her fingers slid through his hair to grip at him. There was a slight tugging as he lapped at a nipple before gently biting, and then a little less gently.

Lothiriel pulled back and he bit back a grumble as he released her from his hold. She pulled her kirtle over her head and tossed it aside before lunging back down against him, kissing him feverishly. His arms snaked around her, holding her tight as she parted her lips, her tongue invading his mouth.

With care not to separate any part of them, Lothiriel rolled him on top of her, needing to feel the weight of him against her, just for a few moments. She pushed up against him, needing all of him pressed to her. He rested on his forearms, staying mostly still, and letting her move against him, to use him, but he still burrowed his face into her shoulder, low groans leaving him as she made slow, dedicated movements up against him.

“Touch me,” she whispered against his ear, and her fingers twisted in his hair and pulled a little as he slid a hand between their bodies, not asking for clarification, his fingers finding that part of her that could send her over.

He pressed kisses against her shoulder, nuzzling her skin and breathing in the scent of her, and doing everything in his power to control himself.

When the first wave of pleasure racked her, she thrust harder and then stilled, and ever the patient man, Eomer stayed over her, his fingers still working until she pleaded for him to stop.

He had gritted his teeth, willing himself not to lose himself in the sweet torment of her body’s ecstasy, the way that her sex tightened and squeezed him. Resting his brow against her shoulder, he wondered where this restraint had come from.

When Lothiriel looked up at him, she saw his dedication etched into his features and she moved carefully, pulling back from him, and the look of bewilderment made her almost burst into laughter as she pushed him on to his back. She took his hands in hers as soon as she was back on top of him, and she slid him back in, smiling at the breath he let out, his face relaxing entirely.

“Do I please you?” she asked as she began moving, remembering that sometimes he spoke when they were together, and wondering what effect it would have on him if she did so.

“Yes.” Though he could admit to himself that when he could consider it again, that it was surprising to hear her speak the way that she had, so possessively, but he had not been surprised that he had loved it.

“Do you like it when I take you?” she asked, wondering if she sounded foolish, but was assured by the way his eyes screwed shut, and his fingers grasped hers that she must be doing something right. She increased her pace a little, her still sensitive body, giving over to more pleasure as she stopped concerning herself with whether or not he would laugh at her, the thrill of her control slipping into the thrill of their bodies, and of wringing every ounce of that pleasure out of their coupling that she could.

His answer was a garbled sound that might have been a word.

“And you like being under me?” The sweet sensation was building faster and faster in her, and she wanted him to feel what she felt.

Her fingers almost hurt from his grip, and his hips which had been so carefully prone under her moved as if he had no control over his own body.

“You are mine,” she whispered, a husky groan as she felt herself growing wild again.

There were fragments of words in Rohirric that she could almost make out, in what way she could, but something she thought that she caught and understood, though perhaps she was wrong, that sounded like the word for “possess.”

“I love you,” she murmured, the words mixing with a cry as her climax came on again, almost harder this time. The movement of their bodies became a frenzied dance driven by instinct. He was thrusting up against her, and her was head thrown back as everything became tinged with gold for a few delicious moments.

She collapsed against him, breathless and murmuring against his chest. In the warm after glow, there was nothing but the two of them in the world. The only thing they were aware of was their bodies, an awareness that increased as they came back into themselves.

There wasn’t even the concern that someone might have heard them and take some strange idea about what they did together, or what they liked. When the thought of it did come, Eomer found he did not care what anyone said. It was no one else’s business, and if anyone thought to listen at the door, it was their own fault if they heard something. The worst they could say was that she said that he belonged to her, and he did. He belonged to her in the way that she belonged to him. They were each the other’s half, and there was nothing to be ashamed of in it.

He was content laying in his wife’s embrace as she combed her fingers through his hair, a small smile on her lips, and he would never let anyone take this joy from him. His hand caught her face and turned it to look at her for a moment, stroking her cheek with his thumb, trying to find the words to tell her how much he missed her, how much he loved her.

“I know,” she whispered, pushing his hair back and slipping a few locks behind his ear.

Eomer’s brow furrowed.

“I love you,” she murmured, stroking the back of her fingers over his cheek bone, “I know that you need to leave sometimes, even if I wished you would not.”

He took her other hand from his shoulder and kissed it, “If it makes any difference to you, my time away gave me a sort of clarity. I can hardly imagine loving anyone more or being happier.”

Lothiriel’s grey eyes rolled, “You needn’t grovel.”

“But I am certain you appreciate it.”

“Perhaps, a little,” she allowed, shifting to lay next to him, her head resting on her hand, tracing a fingertip over his arm, “Does that make me wicked?”

“No more than making your husband wait for the pleasure of your lovemaking, when he has been so long away from you,” he said, his own hand slipping over her hip, as if refamiliarize himself with the shape of her body. The gentle warmth of her skin was something that he had been taking for granted in the weeks before his departure. His gaze slid over her body, taking in every part of her that he could see.

“I did not want the dirt from the road on me,” she giggled.

“Ah, a practical cause then, not that you were vexed?”

“I was a little,” that admission made it all real to her again, everything that she had bottled up since his departure, and that she had tried so hard to dismiss as her own silliness.

“Will you tell me what had you in such a mood?”

“It hardly matters now.”

There was a thoughtful look in her eyes, before she looked down to where their fingers had intertwined again, and he thought to ask her what it was that she pondered so carefully, but he had the feeling that if he asked, he would then need to break the sweet peace that he was so enjoying. On the other hand, whatever it was might hang ominously over his head as long as he did not know.

He turned her face up to him, still fearing that she might draw back into herself as a defense, even as he knew the chances of that were so slim now. The question was clear on his face, and he did not need to ask it.

“It is a silly thought,” she smiled, a tentative quirking of her lips that did not quite push that look from her eyes, “I was thinking if… If I had a child, perhaps…”

When it did not seem that she meant to finish the though, at least aloud, he spoke, “When we have a child, anyone that has not listened to you will be forced to do. Though I gave strict orders that you were to be obeyed, and I do mean to see to those that disregarded you.”

“I told you, it was a silly thought,” there was a disappointment in her, and she hoped that in time she would not need to play some character to have the lords of the Mark give her respect.

He let out a sigh, “I would rather enjoy this time and bar all talk of politics at the door, but whatever it is that has you looking so… tell me.”

Laying back and staring up overhead, she thought of how to explain it without him storming out into the Hall and unleashing his full fury on the members of his council. At the time, she had been so keen to tell him, to have them all pay for their behavior, but now that the chance was here, it seemed childish. There were consequences for telling him, and those consequences stretched beyond her, “I will, but you must promise to not do anything rash.”

“You have my word.”

The look that she turned on him was so full of disbelief that he felt himself bound even further into the oath, and later regretted it.

“They were just… they were rather…” Lothiriel chewed on the inside of her cheek, “They yelled at me.” She grasped Eomer’s arm as he sat up, staring at her, thinking that he would run out into the hall in whatever he could throw on, but he did not move from the bed, “And I may have pointed out that if they were so concerned for the treasury that they could pay their taxes from the last year, which I admit was…”

His eyes studied her, taking in her worried look, and her need to assure him, “It does not matter what you said in response. They had no right to raise their voices to you.”

“Then they do not shout at you?”

“Never. They shout at each other… Thiriel,” his eyes narrowed, “What was said?”

“I hardly remember. Lord Fulgar presented a plan, and I rejected it, and he lost his temper, and then I did right back. But as I said before all is well. You needn’t worry yourself over it.”

“Damn them,” he growled, looking away for a moment, and trying to work out how it was that he should sit and pretend that nothing had happened.

“Dearest,” she said, gently, “It is almost a week past, and amends have been made.”

“That is hardly the point!” he snapped at her, trying to collect his thoughts into something that resembled a sentence, “You are their Queen! And you were forced to console Fulgar and his damned temper?”

“I could hardly call him out! Could you imagine what would happen if I did? Would you have been pleased to return and find me warring with your advisors?”

“The fact that you had to is the problem!”

“And I have resolved it. I have an ally now in Fulgar, and Almod,” she let out a breath, “he is so desperate for any sort of influence that I hardly can imagine him giving me any trouble. Lord Gleothain wants Lord Fulgar to think well of him and will follow whatever lead the old man sets, and so will most of the other lords. They all hedge their bets on him to see what he will do, but he has more support that his opposition. The only one that I have not been able to work out is Lord Dunthain, but I suspect he is half deaf…”

Eomer’s eyes narrowed at her, trying to work out what she was talking about.

Ceasing the moment of confusion, Lothiriel went on, “I also know that Gleothain is easily distracted by cakes, and that the rest of the council was afraid enough to think that I would poison them and let him eat while waiting to see that it was safe,” she smirked, “The guard that was on the room told me so. I have learned a good deal about them, love."

“Then what?” Eomer asked, “You will play out some game to have your way?”

“Though I do not like it, yes,” she gave him a weary smile, “I might admit that I am more than happy to give them back to you. I only do not want to start some row in the court. My place here…”

“Your place is secure," Eomer's dark eyes burned as his mind went through what could have been said to her. Had one of them in their temper said something of absolving the marriage, or questioned her right to rule?

“That is not what I mean to say,” she muttered, “I know that you would never send me away,” she smiled at the confused look on his face, “When I have been here longer, then things will be more settled, but as of yet, no one is quite sure what to make of me, I think.”

Eomer sank back down into the bed, grumbling, “If it happens again, I will not take it lightly.”

“Noted,” she smoothed her fingers over his hair, “In truth, I think they have all been living in dread of your return, certain that you will rip them to shreds.”

“I may yet,” he grumbled, falling into an irritable silence, wishing that he had not asked, that he had not been… what? So eager to hear what was troubling her? When he considered it in that way, he supposed that he was rather foolish. He had known that whatever it was, would not be good news. But he had not at that time been told that he was to do nothing. Lord Fulgar’s apologies made more sense if he had in fact been waiting for Eomer to return and hear the tale from Lothiriel. “I will do all in my power not to act, as you are so set on that, but do not expect me to speak kindly to them this evening, or for some time.”

Lothiriel rested her chin on his chest, looking up at him with her eyes a little wide as if she was bearing the weight of regret at having told him, “I am so terribly sorry if I have put you into a mood.”

He scoffed, looking away from her for a moment before realizing what it was that she was doing, and staring at her face, “You need not try to charm me out of any such mood, wife. I am not some stranger that does not know your tricks.”

She giggled, and sat up, “Was that too heavily applied then?”

“Indeed, but perhaps it is only so to a trained eye,” he pinched at her hip, “though, now I may think to take in your every reaction more carefully, to be certain that it is genuinely given and not simply some trick that you would employ to have your way.”

“Then I am not evil for thinking to twist the perception of me for my own benefit?”

“I am of two minds, to be true…” he sat up, thinking it over, “Swear to me that you will not try anything of the sort with me.”

“Never,” she smiled, leaning forward and kissing him gently, “and besides, I would never need to.”

Eomer smiled, and he smoothed a few errant curls back from her face with the back of his fingers.

He would try to keep his word, and to trust to her assurances that the matter of his council’s disrespect was managed, but he knew, as well as she did, that the indignation of it would sit and fester in him, waiting for some opportunity to rear its head. If any of them ever gave him a reason, he would take out the payment with a violent reprisal. He might do so, even if they did not. That anger was settled deep in the pit of his stomach, pressing and heavy, no matter how much he wanted to ease her concerns.

Watching her eyes slide shut under the caressing touch, he felt the weight of it build. He should not have left her so soon, and he should not have assumed that all would be well in his absence. He stroked her cheek and as she leaned into his touch, he felt as though some part of the blame should be placed on his shoulders. As such, it was his duty to ensure that such a thing never occurred again. The fact that he felt this guilt only made him angrier, and knowing logically that it was not his fault did little to appease that feeling.

Eomer pressed a long kiss to her brow, holding her face in his hands, and when he looked into her face, he could see the understanding in her eyes. She knew that she had told him what he ought to do and knew that if it struck him not to obey that he would. He had already given a warning that he would not stand for her to be disrespected, and now all she could do was hope that he knew the sense in what she had said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that everyone has had a good holiday season! 
> 
> Writing has been a bit difficult lately, and I've been rather busy. But I hope that I'll have the time to sit and write again, and get this story up and out!
> 
> Enjoy, guys! As always, kudos and comments are appreciated!

Gently restraining Eomer’s temper was something that needed to be done, and as his wife, it was in part Lothiriel’s duty to ensure that appearances were maintained. Maintaining appearances was something that she had done her entire life, with a few exceptions, mostly those moments when her emotions ran too high, or in the private life that she was building with her husband, but the latter hardly counted. It was important that now that the appearances of the king’s comportment be properly maintained, especially to the point that Eomer not lose his temper in front of the court. Especially not when he was newly home, it would only send the message that she could not be trusted to rule in his stead without causing trouble, or that she was a tattle-telling child that could not handle the realities of disagreements or governing.

So far, it had been not as difficult as she had imagined it would be. Simply holding his hand in hers and keeping his interest in the conversation that she was trying to have with him seemed to be doing the trick. It did help a bit that she had brought Caelon along to sit by Eomer’s side as a second distraction.

The hound was rather well trained and it usually delighted Eomer to hold out bits of food from the table in exchange for tricks, which Caelon complied to without hesitation.

“Did he really whine?” Eomer asked, suddenly looking back at Lothiriel.

“We had to have the windows cleaned,” Lothiriel said with a smirk, leaning closer to him, “for the good fellow would not stop pressing his nose to each one that faced the road.”

Eomer’s brow fell, “He knows better,” he turned his eyes to the dog who sat patiently by, waiting for another sliver of pork, which he was certain would be forthcoming, “you know better than that!”

Caelon’s face fell a little, and he laid down, resting his head on his paws and casting his eyes back up, giving the impression of the fullest regret that he could muster, a thing that seemed doubtful on second glance.

Doing his best to maintain his look of displeasure, Eomer glowered almost comedically, “You stay away from the windows! Eh?”

Caelon let out a whining yelp that was likely a very eloquent apology in his own language.

“Indeed,” Eomer replied with a nod, “and see that you remember it!” Another yip was given in reply and it seemed to be well enough received for Caelon to receive another bit of meat which he chewed on happily.

Lothiriel watched with amusement, a smile lighting her face and her dimples coming in as she looked between her husband and their dog. If she had not taken to him, she wondered, would Eomer have kept her, or would that have been the end of it then and there? He enjoyed the company of his dog more than the company of most people or seemed to, but then, she supposed, dogs were far easier to please that people. Give a dog some food and they would be contented. But give a lord a plot of land and they might keep coming back to ask for more. At least when the dog came back for more food you could order them away without risking any long reaching political consequences.

Eomer caught her looking at him, and gave her a small smile, took up her hand, and kissed the back of it, his eyes never leaving hers.

There was still that warm tingling in the pit of her stomach sometimes when he looked at her, and she thought that it might be strange to still feel so after a few months, but then, she had never really been in love, so she had no idea what might be normal or expected.

She squeezed his hand, “I am so glad you are back home.”

There was a light in his eyes, and she leaned on the arm of her chair, “Whatever is that look for?”

“I know that it goes without saying that this is home, but I do like to hear you say so.”

After a moment of though, her smile turned impish, “This is my home. This is my home. I live here, and this is my home!”

He let out a chuckle, “Alright, see if I share such personal opinions with you again.”

“I am only obliging the wishes of my lord husband,” she replied, all innocence and manners, “there can hardly be anything wrong with that?” She took a sip of her ale, looking over the assembly and making a quick note to herself of the countenances of the advisors and their wives. There was a nervousness of various degrees in them as they all took stock of Eomer, the way that she was taking stock of them, but less discreetly.

“If you had a mind to your husband’s wishes we would have stayed in our rooms,” he murmured, running his thumb over the back of her hand, “or more to the point, we would not have left our bed.”

Lothiriel blushed, her brown skin glowed a little as she looked down at their hands, “If you had your way, I doubt we would ever leave our rooms at all.”

“No, my dear we would, of course, require fresh air for our health,” Eomer said seriously, “though there are windows…”

A peel of laughter left her, and she shook her head, “Indeed there are.”

“Then I see no reason not to do so, and at once!”

“Firefoot would get quite fat if you did not exercise him,” Lothiriel pointed out, and watched as he considered this, “and Sylmere, too, though she can be rather lazy, and would likely be quite content to sit in her stall and do nothing.”

After a moment he appeared to have found a solution to the problem that she had presented, “Having accepted the existence of the windows, we will simply climb in and out and in and no one will be the wiser.”

“An excellent plan, though the doors would be easier, I think.”

“Easier, yes, but that would mean running the risk of someone seeing us, and of us being waylayed,” he smirked deviously, “and we cannot have that.”

“Perhaps, if you are so opposed to that necessary occurrence that comes with kingship, you should write to your sister and have her come to take your place.”

He looked thoughtful, as if he was in truth considering this, “Perhaps, but then your cousin would need to leave Ithilien, and I do not imagine him doing so.”

“No, I suppose we are simply stuck as King and Queen.”

“What a terrible existence,” he mused, his smile breaking through, “however will we live?”

“We must simply accept it, and do our best,” she said, trying to keep the mournful tone of one with a burden too great to bear, but she could not quite manage it and broke into another smile.

Eomer kissed her hand again before releasing it to eat some more.

“You are acting as if you were not sent with enough food to last you,” she smirked, “did I not send enough provisions?”

“You did. I am simply enjoying the luxury of food prepared by those with the knowledge of how it should be done,” he took another bite, “Is that rosemary?”

“Yes,” she felt more than a little smug, “I wanted you to have a nice meal, and so I told Mistress Tildweth that though I knew it might be an imposition that upon your return that the meal be as fine as could be managed in the time allowed.”

“And how did she like that?”

“Rather well, actually. But then, I have already had the time to establish my relationship with the household staff,” a fear suddenly sprang along the back of her neck, and she realized that she had opened the door for him to consider those who she had not had time to build a relationship with, “and of course the fact that the food is for you likely helped.”

“I am certain I have no idea what you mean.”

“Then the rumor that you had been her child in the court favorite is a lie?” Lothiriel asked, leaning back and studying the embarrassment that he tried to hide, “I heard that your used to get into trouble, but that you were so adorable that you never stayed in it for long.”

“An exaggeration,” Eomer said, glancing at her, “though perhaps not a great one.”

She tried to imagine him as a small child, before everything began to be torn away from him. There was still some playfulness in him, though only those closest to him would know that, and there must have been more of it once. She wondered what he had looked like, all children’s curls and dimples. Had his mother made him an Eowyn wear matching clothes, a humiliation that she had Amrothos had been subjected to when her father had wanted to present them as a happy family? She could remember clinging to Amrothos’ hand whenever they had been brought out in front of guests and told that they were to behave themselves. That quiet good behavior was rarely in the natural behavior of children, and she wondered what a little sprite he had been.

He looked over her face with its wistful smile on her lips, “I fear asking what it is that has given you that look.”

“I am thinking of what you might have been like as a child,” Lothiriel admitted, her smile widening.

“Why should you do that?”

There was a slight shift in her shoulders, “Should I not imagine you looking woefully up at the adults, doing your best not to remain in a corner or accept any other sort of punishment?”

He smiled, self-consciously, “There is nothing I would be able to do to stop your mind from pursuing whatever trail it has taken up. Though I would then need to admit that I had given some consideration to that matter, but in my case, it was to the question of your childhood, though what you have told me of that time does not seem to be…” he hesitated, “From what you have told me you did not have a happy childhood.”

“It was not all so awful as you assume!” she smiled at him, wanting to reassure him as best she could, “I had my own Tildweth, and she gave me the impression that I was stealing all the sweets I wanted, and I did not until much later consider that they were all set at a heigh at which I could reach them, and hidden rather poorly.”

Eomer chuckled, “Were you the favorite, then?”

“I was the youngest, so in a way I suppose so. Though when I was not well minded, I should admit that I was rather a terror. I used to hide all over my father’s palace, and no one was ever able to find me.”

A shred of some memory pricked at the back of his mind, and Eomer wondered if he was only creating the image of her, tiny and not as shamefaced as she tried to appear, poking her head up from behind a chaise. It was a strange thing to think of then, but it did feel like a memory. Lothiriel might have been ready to be scolded but had been scooped up onto her uncle’s lap and plied with sweets and petted over as the Steward told her that she was such a clever little thing.

“I doubt you would remember, but we met when you were little, I think,” Eomer said with more certainty than he likely should have had.

“I do not recall most of it, being so young, but I remember… your cousin was quite kind to me,” she replied, not wanting to say that when the marriage had been proposed that Amrothos had teased her and insisted that she had been sweet on Eomer when she was little. In truth, though she could not remember it, she had been fonder of Theodred, finding him of a better disposition than the moody youth that Eomer had been, though she had thought that Eomer was pleasant to look at.

“The only cause that I have for mentioning it was that I think I remember that your uncle was quite fond of you,” Eomer said, “and at the time I might have thought that you were his daughter.”

“That was a rumor,” Lothiriel admitted, “but one that was never taken very seriously, by grace. In truth, I think that my uncle wanted a daughter, but never had one. He…” she gave a sad smile, “he had a way of looking after the lost. If he had not been, I do not know what I might have grown into.”

Taking up her hand again, Eomer turned it over, looking at the small expanse of her palm. He trailed his fingers over the light creases that he found there, “I do know the feeling you speak of.”

Lothiriel watched him for a moment before deciding to make the jest, “Are you going to tell my future.”

“Ah, well I might try,” he said as if mildly put out. He let out a sigh as he looked at her hand, “You will have a long life, and… I see a handsome husband, yes… but it seems he will be an ornery old git.”

“Well as long as he is handsome.”

“Very handsome,” Eomer agreed, “You simply need wait for your current one to die.”

She wretched her hand free of his and smacked his arm, forgetting for a moment that there were witnesses to her behavior, “Do not even dare to think of it.”

His laugher was a fine sound, and he bowed his head, “I do as my lady bids, and so you shall simply be stuck with me.”

“Good, for I like the husband that I have, and am not of a mind to need to seek another one,” she said with a pert tilt to her chin, “and should I need to put myself back onto the marriage market I will be quite displeased.”

“Oh?” Eomer raised a brow at her.

“Indeed. I have already learned your habits well, and I am not of a mind to start this process all over again with someone else.”

“You are so very practical.”

“I am, indeed. Why what did you think?”

“I suppose I was carrying the delusion that you might be in love with me.”

“How foolish,” she smirked at him sideways.

“Indeed, who has ever heard of a loving marriage?”

“It is the sort of thing from children’s stories and old tales.”

He grumbled an affirmation, but still looked at her coyly, watching her eat. He waited until her mouth was full before leaning over and pressing his lips to her ear, “I love you so, darling.”

The sensation of his breath and beard against her skin jolted through her entire body, as she was certain he had planned.

She peered over at Caelon who had rested his head once more on his paws and seemed to be sleeping. “My lord,” she turned to face him, “I am tired, and perhaps, if you were in agreement, we could retire for the evening.”

The look he gave her was absolutely wolfish, glinting teeth and intent, “I have no objections to withdrawing.”

She smiled back, and raised a brow, waiting for him to take the lead, as she should not be seen to stand before he had. Leaning down a little, she gave a small, whispering call, “Caelon? Wake up, boy.”

With a sigh, Eomer got to his feet, and looked over the assembly as they fell quiet to not miss anything that he might say.

“I thank you all, for such a wonderful homecoming. It is my opinion that there has never been a finer one. Lothiriel Queen and I shall retire, but you are all welcome to enjoy the hospitality that my good wife and queen has arranged for us all,” he held his wrist at her level, and she took the offered handhold as she rose from her seat, her hand resting delicately as he led her along the dais. In the edge of her vision, she could see the whole court bowing respectfully.

Stopping at the door of the nursery, Lothiriel opened the door for Caelon and pet his head and wished him goodnight and explained that he would need to sleep in his own room. When she turned back to look at Eomer, she found him smiling as she waved the dog through to his bed.

“You do take such good care,” he murmured, taking her hand back in his and slipping into the crook of his arm, “Perhaps I have not given you your due.”

“In what way?” she asked, confused by his words. He had, as far as she was aware, been rather boastful over her dutifulness. She had overheard a few of his men griping over the fact that he would not stop speaking her praises.

“You seem to me to take everything in stride and to rise above it all, seeking solutions to problems.”

“Is that not what I ought to do?”

“I am simply marveling at your ability to manage every matter that you come across to one end or another.”

“I have simply opened a door,” she laughed, “it is nothing to remark upon with such jubilation as that.”

He glanced at her, “You have no conception of how you help, I think. I should hesitate to go on, but I think that you still put the wellness of others before yourself, and by a long stretch.”

“I am queen. It is right that I do so.”

Eomer’s hand pressed the door to their rooms, but he stopped a moment, thinking, “And you are right, I know, but there are times when you will need to think of yourself.”

Standing on her toes, and tugging him down to her, she whispered, “then open the door, and I will show you how completely I concern myself with my own needs.”

He did not give a verbal answer, but quickly opened the door, and all but dragged her inside as she pressed a hand over her mouth to quiet her laughter. As he closed the door, he pushed her back against it. He kissed her eagerly, smiling against her lips as he scooped her up, his hands under her knees and he pressed her back against the door as Lothiriel’s arms slipped around his neck, anchoring himself all the more as she wrapped her legs around his hips.

The light rapping at the door dragged them back to reality for a moment, all the more for Heohild’s voice on the other side of the door, “Beg your pardon, but will you be needing me, Your Grace?”

“No,” Eomer called back, his voice a bit muffled by Lothiriel’s shoulder.

He tightened his grip trying to stop Lothiriel from squirming out of his hold, and pressed a little more firmly against her, a wicked smile on his face as he leaned into her lips.

“Eomer,” she giggled, pushing against his chest, and staring at him as if to ask if he really intended to have her against the door, an unspoken question that was all but ignored and forgotten as soon as his mouth was back on hers. She considered that it was a rather sturdy piece of wood, and would likely support their ardor, and if it did not, well, she supposed that she would decide what to do when it came to that.

0x0x0

Hundreds of leagues away, a different sort of evening was unfolding.

Lady Leowella had, against all odds and speculation that she would arrive as a wild-haired warrior, become a jewel of Minas Tirith society. If one was in want of a good piece of gossip, she was one of the purveyors of such things that one should be sure to visit with, quite the accomplishment for one so newly come.

Though Eowyn was still a bit eager to find some match for her friend, the reason for her coming had been kept secret and carefully so. The last thing she needed presently was to have her good lord husband find some true basis for his inheret distrust of the lady. It was a matter that was sure to be sorted soon enough, as Leowella seemed to have more suitors than she knew what to do with. Eowyn had taken up the charge of sitting as a chaperone when all of the young lords and gentlemen came to pay their calls, and she had taken to wondering if the attention would stray once it became apparent that none of them would find her skirts quite so light as had been assumed.

A gaggle of well-placed society ladies had all fallen under the spell of the foreign beauty who seemed to know every secret in the city, and Leowella now held court over them all. In a way, she enjoyed it, and wondered why Eomer had held this place with such irritation, though she knew him well enough to know that so large a court with such demands of speaking was not in the least the sort of thing that would amuse him. The memory of him gave a small pang, but she knew better than to dwell on it.

“I would never think to decry a man of such good standing,” Leowella interjected, breaking the debate over whether or not Lord Peldirion would make good on his courting of the very young Lady Theriadis and make a proposal, “but if I had a daughter, I would keep an eye on that one, and not let her near him without a guard nearby, and I certainly would not think to let her marry him.” In truth she had little cause of her pointed dislike, but there was a leering edge to his charms that seemed to be born of some malice.

There was a knowing look between the ladies, all debating who should speak their agreement first, and it seemed that Lady Ethirneth decided that she was best suited to the charge, she spoke up, “My maid heard from one of the girls in the scullery that he has rather a temper, and that a good number of the servants avoid him.”

Leowella raised a brow, taking that as clear validation, “I do wonder why he is allowed about.”

“I heard from a quite reliable source,” Lady Radriel said with a glint in her eye, “that he has a child with one of his tenant’s daughters and that he had to be forced to send anything to take care of that child.”

“You are all trying to make him out to be the worst sort of rake, and I do not think there is more to be said of it in truth than the exaggerations of kitchen maids and old spinsters,” Lady Glaethel said, always the most cautious of the lot, as if she did not lap up each shred of malice. The irritable looks of her companions had the desired effect of making her blush and break eye contact.

“I do believe my question stands,” Leowella said, smirking a little, “if the rumors of beastly behavior are so broadly spread, I should not think that so glittering and decent a society would be inclined to allow his presence.”

“His late father was a great supporter of Lord Denethor, and for all the gossip, there has not been a single complaint made to remove him,” Lady Radriel said, “though it is hardly a surprise.”

“Why?”

“If, for example, a lady had been put to the brunt of his attentions and found them not pleasant, she would need to admit to not being cautious with her own virtue.”

Leowella’s brow furrowed, “And she would be blamed for some rake being a complete ass?”

“The fault would legally be with the cur, but you know old the old dames love to find flaws in the young ladies,” there was something pointed in her gaze, “There is an old rumor… and no one is quite certain who might have done it… but a few years ago, when he was at court, he had his hand all bound up, and his face rather bruised. The word that went about was that he tried to put that hand where it oughtn’t to be.”

“Then some lady had beat him?” Leowella asked, wanting to sort this mystery out for herself, but having no details to go on. She had come to think that each lady in the citadel was in possession of a natural fury, but that it lay deep and smoldering where they could not quite get to it. At least that was the appearance given. More than one of these well brought up young ladies had made thinly veiled threats at one man or other and their over attentiveness. If one of them had actually struck out… well, Leowella wanted to meet this lady and see if they might be friends.

“It might have been The Bride,” Lady Radriel said, her tone conspiratorial.

“The…?” Leowella looked between the ladies, waiting for someone to tell her what one earth they were talking about now, “is there some vigilante?”

“No!” Lady Ethirneth said at the same time that Lady Radriel looked as if she was going to make some further correction, smirking a bit, but that refusal stopped whatever it was that she was going to say.

“It is said that there is a ghost here,” Lady Glaethel said, clearly thinking it was nonsense, but still she did have the appearance of glee at being able to add to the conversation again, “The story goes that a young lady was married to a complete beast of a man and that he went into a rage on the night that they were wed and that she paid for his temper with her life. Now she wanders the corridors, defending young ladies, and dispatching any man with malice in his heart.”

Leowella would have laughed at the absurdity of hoping for some spirit to protect a person when they should have been able to dispatch such a villain on her own, but she took in the reverent looks that the ladies had firmly in place and she only nodded, “Then you think that this ghost bride attacked Lord Peldirion?”

“It must have been!” Lady Ethirneth insisted, “It is the only way that no one has been able to solve the mystery!”

“And he is not the only one that has run afoul of The Bride,” Lady Glaethel said excitedly, not bothering to hide her interest in this tale, “A few other gentlemen have been beaten or terrified. One even died!”

“Are there so many terrible men, then?” Leowella asked, looking over the assembly and wondering if she had spoken to any of the victims of this theoretical ghost.

“Perhaps that is why Lady Ivriniel never married,” Lady Ethirneth said, leaning closer to Leowella with a smirk.

“Oh, not this again,” Lady Radriel snorted.

“She is rather close with her companion,” Lady Ethirneth confided, “and the rumor has been for years that she has no inclination to… appreciate a man’s attention.”

“You are going to leave Lady Leowella with the impression that we are all hedonists,” Lady Radriel warned, her face pickling a little, “She will imagine that we are all terribly treated, or else given to… different tendencies!”

A slow smile spread over Leowella’s face, almost gleeful, “Do tell me more of this alleged tendency of the good lady Ivriniel, and I will tell you if I am shocked.” There was a heavy implication that she would not be.

When she could finally drag herself away from the tangle of ladies that wanted to feed her gossip and in exchange for their tidbits be scandalized by her opinions or receive some story in payment, she felt herself breathing a little easier.

“Finally managed to extract yourself?” a gentle and familiar voice called, “I do not know how you manage them all.”

“Now, my lord, there is no cause for envy,” Leowella smirked up at her friend’s beaming and teasing face.

“Whatever cause would I have for envy?” Erchirion asked, “Should I want a swarm of eager young ladies trailing my every step, I could very easily manage it.”

“I do doubt that. How would you do it?”

“As I said, easily,” he tilted his head, “but I shall tell you the secret of how I would go about such a thing. I would set a trail of wine glasses in my wake, all with some lurid bit of gossip affixed to the bottoms.”

“Indeed, one would need to have drank quite a bit to find any interest in you,” Leowella said with a sniff, her features comedic in their disinterest, a façade that cracked and tumbled as soon as he laughed.

“I should have you know that some people think that I am quite amusing.”

“Well, as long as you have kept the deaf and blind from abject boredom.”

“Another point to you, my lady,” Erchirion bowed his head and refilled her glass from a pitcher.

“What is the score now?” she asked, as if she had not kept it herself.

“I believe we stand,” he made a show of pulling an imaginary slate from his purse, “Ah yes, two for me, and seven hundred and eighty-three for you.”

“I do think you exaggerate.”

“No, no I have it written here,” he held the imagined thing out to her.

Pretending to take it from him and look it over she nodded, “Just as I thought, that is meant to be a one, but you have such terrible handwriting.”

Erchirion’s face lit in a wide grin, “as you say, my lady. How clever you are.”

“Not simply a pretty face,” she tilted her chin up toward him a little and froze for a moment. They were standing too close together, and she wondered how she had allowed it. His hand was close to hers on the balustrade, so close that she could feel the warmth from his skin on hers.

Erchirion’s gaze trailed over her lips for a moment before seeming to remember himself, and look away, hiding his face in his glass, “No, you are much more than that, my lady,” he glanced at her for a moment, before bowing, “I beg your pardon.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that there was no need to apologize, but he was gone as quickly as he had come, and she stared after him, cursing herself.

Having secretly and silently sworn off men, Leowella found the gentle pattering in her chest and nuisance that she had no time for and wondered if she had thought to martyr herself for her own terrible behavior.

Erchirion was not quite as attractive as his brothers were, but he was warmer than the others, and there was a kindness in his eyes that she felt herself drawn to in these moments when she completely forgot her oath. He was not a bad looking fellow, she considered, but she was no of a mind to give him anything more than friendship.

“What do you make of that?” Faramir asked, almost surly as he watched his cousin beat a hasty retreat.

“That he has likely put his foot in it again,” Eowyn smiled back, “bless the poor man, for all his bravado and wit, he seems too conscious of his own being to do much more than that.”

“That is not what I mean, and you know it well.”

Eowyn gave him a look, “You are being unkind.”

“I am being cautious. There is a difference. I know that there was some cause to bring her here, whether you will say or no,” Faramir’s brow darkened, “and I am of course amiable to whatever devices you have. I simply hope that you do not think to make whatever plans to have by using my kin.”

“I have no such devices, as you call them. She is my friend and she wanted to come south.”

Faramir let out a disbelieving huff.

The secret, whatever it was, and he did have an idea of it, was a shadow in the corner of their marriage. If Leowella had been brought to ensure Lothiriel’s peace of mind, it would not change a thing, and Faramir considered that he was of good enough breeding that he would not go about smearing Lady Leowella’s honor. He only wished that whatever it was, and however terrible the reason for that lady being here, that his wife would tell him the truth of it.

0x0x0

“These are sharp,” Eomer remarked, pulling one of the silver sticks from Lothiriel’s hair, and missing the way that a few curls tumbled free, “You could harm yourself, dear.”

“Or someone else?” she asked, raising a brow at his reflection as she applied ointments to her hands, “Oh, do not look so shocked! What other purpose do you imagine one would have for wearing so sharp and implement?”

He studied her for a long moment, “I should be petrified, but I find myself feeling something rather different… Have you had cause to use such a thing before?”

“I may have… put a pin through a man’s hand before.”

“My fierce little thing,” he smiled, taking another pin from her hair and taking care not to prick another finger as he did so, and held the thing up to study it, “Perhaps I should have more of these made for you.”

“I do like them,” she allowed, watching him set the pins and sticks in their respective boxes and reach for the comb. “Though,” she went on, “you already know that I will take glee in any gift you think to give me.”

He hummed some affirmation or other and began the long process of combing her hair, smiling to himself as the thick curls fell down her back and shone in the fire and candlelight. It had not been a charge that he had taken on yet, having usually let Heohild make all the preparations and undressing that Lothiriel required. He took up one of the vials of hair oil and gave it a sniff to be sure it was a good one before applying the mixture to her hair. The braiding was his and his alone, and he had been unable to do so in some time, and he knew that his hands would smell of her hair oil for a time yet. It was the simple things that he had missed most of all, and now, listening to his wife hum quietly to herself as she went through her nighttime rituals made him feel all the more at home.

In one of his sentimental moments, which in truth were more common than he would like to admit, he considered if his home felt so because of her. It seemed so, at least now. Having been away, and having felt her absence so keenly, in spite of the fact that he had enjoyed his time away, he found himself reveling in his life as it was now.

There were these moments, and had been before, where he felt this way, felt blessed and happy that he had her, even for the secrets that he knew that she still kept locked deep in her mind. She had still not spoken of the things that Eowyn had told him, beyond a few small hints here and there, and as soon as she would allude to something, she would blush and leave that topic with a bit too much haste.

She rubbed some of her strange ointments over his face and massaged it in and he relaxed under her fingers. It felt so different from what he might have thought his life would have been, but it was good, simple and right.

“What?” she asked, having gotten up from her vanity and climbed into bed, and looked back at him, smiling and watching her.

In answer he shook his head a little before joining her, snuffing the candle and holding her close. It did not seem that she was satisfied by his answer, or lack of one, and in the dark she stared at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was that he was thinking. Rather than speak, he traced the shape of her face and kissed her.

“Are you not sated?” she asked with a cat like smile on her face.

“I am,” he chuckled, laying back, and trying to decide if he had to energy for another round of marital attentions, “I have often enough kissed you without any further expectation.”

“You have, but I had thought that having been away that you would need…” her face felt warm still whenever they spoke of such things, “Does… that… not build up in a man?”

He looked at her, trying to work out an answer, “I take your meaning to be does virility build up in a man to a point where there a need for constant release? Not in my experience, though perhaps that is because I am not some green boy. I would have thought that you would know that by now.”

“I simply ask for clarification.”

“You are as ever the most studious lady,” he teased, “and I have done everything that I could consider to be a good teacher.”

“You have been,” she giggled, leaning her chin on his chest, that giggle permeated her words as she spoke them, “quite dedicated to my education.”

Smoothing his fingers over her hair, “I think that I might make a break from court life at end of spring or the beginning of summer.”

At least he was giving her more warning than he had previously done, so that she would have more time to prepare herself from his leaving her again, though she did wish he would have given her a few more days before telling her so, “As you need. Do you know how long you would be gone?”

“Perhaps a few weeks,” he said, sitting up a little, “I should like to go to Aldburg, to assure that the harvests come along well. And, well, the thing is that I would rather like you to have come with me, if our schedules would allow it.”

“I would like that,” Lothiriel grinned, “I will arrange our schedule to ensure that we will be able to. I should look to the house and the property, though I have seen the ledgers, but I think that I will need to see it all myself. The farms have been doing quite well, at least from what I have heard, but I am certain that seeing it all in truth is quite different.”

He watched her go on and on about planning and crops, resting his hand on his fist as she excited expounded on the new ideas of crop rotation she had learned about. There was a part of him that wanted to remind her that they should likely sleep, but she seemed so proud of herself for learning about how farming worked.

“I beg your pardon, I have been going on and on…” she said, halfway through a beginner’s level lecture of flax seeding and the making of linen, and the economic possibilities of expanding their linen trades.

“I do not mind,” he said, “in fact, I enjoy your enthusiasm for so simple a thing as what you have been recounting in adorable detail.”

“I am adorable, then am I?” she asked, nestling against him, “I should think that such a title would be saved for children or your dog.”

Eomer rolled his eyes, “In general, I should agree, but it does still seem fitting to me. I do think that there is anything that you will be able to do to make me dismiss the thought.”

“Even if I burp?” she taunted.

He laughed, a bit louder than he should have done, but it had been quite a while since Lothiriel had asked a question with the basis of such southern propriety that he could not help it, and he pressed his hand over his mouth at the look that Lothiriel gave him. “Yes, my love, even then.”

Nestled together, she watched as sleep took him, and she smiled a little, wanting to touch his face or his hair, but not wanting to wake him. Perhaps she had worn him out a little, and perhaps she should have given more allowances for rest without bringing her own wants and needs into it. Though he had made no complaints.

It occurred to her that he hardly complained of anything, at least in a serious way. At times he would jibe at some request or other, but he did mostly as he said. Before she had married, she had been told of the ideas of managing a husband, and the great struggle that such a charge may provide, she found that it was not so, if that was what it was that she was doing. Though he still did as he pleased for the most part, there was the omnipresent guiding hand that her opinions formed.

Though, it was still early days, and perhaps in a few years he would be less inclined to heed her advice. That small voice in the back of her mind, which she had not been entirely able to dismiss as hard as she tried to, wondered if she was still a novelty to him, and if that shine of newness would rub off in time, and he would see her as a nagging, meddlesome wife.

Who could say what would happen in the future? At present, things were good between them, more than good, but still. If there were signs of trouble, she would know them and try to work around them. At least he was a loyal man, and forthright enough with his thoughts, to her anyway, that if there was some strain or other, he would tell her so. She hoped that he would, though the realist in her, for that was what she considered it, was aware that though he loved her, that if he decided that their honeymooning was over that she at least would have a comfortable room and be cared for.

She tried to banish those thoughts as she curled against him, resting comfortably in his arms and trying to let herself, and by extension Eomer, sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the holidays are over, I think I've gotten the inspiration back to write! 
> 
> Full disclosure, I have quite a few ideas for this story going forward, and some might not be entire worked out yet. The part of my brain that handles writing has a tendency to go quite off the rails sometimes, and some of the silliness is really rather difficult to ignore at times.
> 
> That said, I hope you all continue to enjoy my writing as I go through it all!

Leowella sat at her stitching in perfect silence, but it was the sort of silence that held the weight of a conversation that would be unpleasant, or at the very least uncomfortable, she could see it in the set of Eowyn’s shoulders. Being not of a mood to provoke the lecture that was forthcoming, Leowella kept her eyes on her work.

“You have been spending time with Erchirion,” Eowyn said, suddenly, having given up finding a subtle way to go about this.

“You have no cause for concern. We are only friends,” the response felt like a reflex in some muscle that she had forgotten that she had.

“Perhaps,” Eowyn said, staring at her, “but he is a sensitive sort, and I should not think that it would be right for him to have any misunderstanding of that fact.”

“I have not done anything, and I do not know why it is that we are discussing it.”

Eowyn’s head tilted at her, a sympathetic look on her face, “Lothiriel is my brother’s wife, and if you are making eyes at her brother, I would be obligated to tell her so.”

Leowella’s lips curled, “I do not see why you should. As I said, I have no intention of… anything with him.”

“As long as it stays that way,” there was a tartness in Eowyn’s smile, “As much as I hate to say it, the sooner you can get yourself settled in some way, the better.”

“What has this place done to you?” This was not the fierce woman that Leowella knew, and she could not take the advice, well-meaning as it may have been without pointing it out.

There was a narrowing of eyes as Eowyn looked back at her, “my opinions have not changed, your situation has. If you had not been the most-” Eowyn let out a breath, trying to wrangle her temper back, “If you had not betrayed Lothiriel’s trust so entirely we would not be having this conversation. Point of fact, you would not even be here! You should thank whatever grace there is that she agreed to let you come here.”

“Then I must pay for one mistake for my entire life?”

“Would you rather go back, and hope that Her Grace Lothiriel will accept you with open arms?” Eowyn laughed bitterly, “If you would like to try, I will have a horse saddled for you and your things packed!” there was a hard edge to the almost caring smile that Eowyn gave her, “No? Then you will heed my words. I have had enough trouble in just keeping you here.”

“What trouble?” Leowella asked, the guilt washing over her, as had no doubt been Eowyn’s plan.

With a beleaguered sigh, Eowyn shook her head, looking back to her needlework, and had a sudden desire to hurl the loom and all into a fire, “Never mind that now.”

“Has something happened?”

What was Eowyn meant to say? That Faramir distrusted Leowella so far as to outright state and that he was opposed to any sort of relationship between her and any member of his family that he watched Erchirion any time that he approached her? If they truly were just friends, then there was no reason to tell her so. But if she could just get herself married, and settled, it would be for the most part done and over with. For all of Lothiriel’s assurances that she had not wanted Leowella’s life ruined, Eowyn could not see the Queen accepting any prolonged contact with the lady in question. All the worse for Eowyn could imagine her brother feeling terrible about the whole thing and trying to extend the offer of friendship to Leowella, which would only make Lothiriel all the more furious, if she read the young queen correctly.

Eowyn had heard a few tales of Lothiriel’s temper by now and could guess that there was a jealous streak in her, and more than that. There was an ability to hold a grudge, and to hold it tight.

If the whole mess was putting a strain on her own marriage, it was her fault. Some small uncharitable part of her considered cutting the loss now and telling Leowella to go make her own way. She certainly had enough friends in the court, and money of her own that she could make a good match, or else find a place in some highborn household as a lady-in-waiting. The strain was made of the fact that Eowyn would not tell Faramir what it was that had happened with this lady beyond that it had been a misunderstanding. It was a lie of a sort, and one that Faramir had initially accepted, but now seemed to have found some cause to think that there was more to it.

Damn her fool of a brother, and her own nature for letting herself be put in this position.

“My lady,” Leowella said, almost timidly, “I do not want to seek a marriage…”

“Then what is it precisely that you meant to achieve?”

“I… have vowed off men,” there was resignation in the small smile that Leowella gave her, “I think we can both agree that such entanglements have only brought me trouble.”

“One entanglement brought you trouble, and if you had been in any way…” Eowyn grumbled at the self-pity that was unfolding before her, “If you think to swear off men because you have terrible tastes, then far be it for me to tell you what to do. But know that in time I may have to tell my lord husband why it is that you are here.”

Leowella looked away, nodding, “In truth I thought you already had.”

“No, but by your leave I will.”

“Will I be told to leave?”

It was a question that was at the heart of the whole deception, “I can hardly say. But if you had some benefactor or other? Perhaps see if you might be a lady-in-waiting to someone, or something of the sort. You can hardly expect to live out your entire life here, simply existing.”

“I should think that I am flourishing,” the impish look was back in its place, and for a moment Eowyn wanted to smack her, for no cause but that her self-pity seemed an illusion, or else this confidence was.

“Do as you will, but you should bear in mind that at some time my brother and his wife will likely visit here,” Eowyn said, debating if she was being cruel in bringing that inevitability to her attention.

Leowella sighed, “I will not make the same mistake again, and I appreciate your concern,” she collected her things as if she had no concern when Eowyn dismissed her, having other engagements for the day, and lacking the freedom to sit with one person for longer than was allotted by her social calendar. 

The time that Leowella had spent in this strange court had given her an appreciation for Lothiriel’s composure and dignity. There was a never-ending pressure to project perfection, and as well as she seemed to fit into that role, if only for the fact that she was just slightly out of place, the strain of it was exhausting.

She had come to understand the need to mask one’s feelings and to fit into a mold of refined excellence and had come to understand that as close as she had imagined that she was with Her Grace, The Queen, she realized that there were things that Lothiriel had never said, and never been able to express. The realization made her feel like such a fool, and if she had even for a moment thought about what Lothiriel’s life might have been before coming to Edoras, really thought about it, she would have seen Lothiriel more clearly.

Lothiriel Queen was a young woman, and she had lived in this place where masks were required and any show of affection, no matter how earnest, was to be weighed and judged. The doubt that she had ever had that the young queen loved Eomer had been dismissed the moment her fist had made contact with Leowella’s face, but it made all the more sense now.

Try as hard as she did not to dwell on her guilt and her own behavior, every time Lord Faramir had looked at her, she felt it all the more.

She did not want to marry, nor did she want to find some position for herself. She wanted to run off, and find some place where no one would know her, but it was the sort of fantasy that lacked any actual forethought or plan.

She didn’t deserve this chance to remake her life.

0x0x0

Eomer stared over the council, Caelon doing his best to imitate that look a thing that could not quite be managed because of his excitable and vaguely simply nature, and the dog had failed to achieve his purpose of terrifying the council all the more. At some point, he would need to face the fact that people would realize that the dog, who had been renowned for his willingness to growl and bite, had all of the fierceness of a baby rabbit. It hardly helped that the hound trailed over to Lord Gleothain and pressed the young lord’s hand with a massive paw, demanding that he be pet at once.

The silver lining to the entire mess that the behavior of the council had made, was the quickest that they had ever before been able to see to the matters of his rule. It was a terrible thought, but perhaps he should have them all in complete and abject terror more frequently. There were no pointed jabs in the debates over solutions, and those debates themselves seemed focused more on receiving Eomer’s approval on the ideas and wanting that approval based on the facts themselves. He wondered if this was how things ought to be done, though it was a little less entertaining.

Lord Fulgar presented a trade plan for the surplus of flax that was expected from this year’s harvest, a plan, he explained, that had been put together by Lothiriel Queen, but which would await the actual harvest, and Eomer’s eventual approval. He granted that it was a good plan, and that they would see how the crops came in before deciding.

It was over rather quickly, and for a moment Eomer considered going to collect Lothiriel and taking a ride with her, but he knew that he should review the reports that she had carefully put together for him. The reports were mostly news from around the country, but also detailed explanations of each council meeting and what had been discussed at each of them, down to who had been for or against each motion.

At the door of his study, Caelon started forward and then sat, his shaggy head tilting back a little before he stood up and tore down the corridor, ignoring Eomer’s calls that Caelon return and sit with him. The idea of following after the dog presented itself, but only just, and was rather quickly dismissed. There were things that he needed to do, and he went into his study to stare over the pages that had been organized for him.

Rubbing at the back of his neck and staring at the stacks of parchment, he wondered if it had been a particularly busy few weeks, or if this was his penance for running off on a jaunt, and he had the beginning of an impression that she would test him on all the matters to ensure that he read them. If not a test, then she would likely want to discuss the matters.

He lifted the first page and began reading through it and noted that she had given her opinions on each motion and provided the proposals with them, as well as a notation on whether or not she had passed the law, or approved the plan, and then what reasons for or against. In a few cases there was the notation of “matter left for your consideration”, and those made him nervous.

It had occurred to him a few times by now that he ought to simply have Lothiriel attend council with him. Not simply because he thought it likely that she would have counterpoints that he had not considered, or that she might have plans that she might be able to articulate better than he had done, but because he wanted to create a united front between them. Such a front might make any further questioning of her authority impossible or appear as treasonous as he personally considered it to be.

By bringing her with him to these meetings, he would be giving his sanction to her more clearly, in spite of the fact that he had thought such a thing was already done. He knew that his lady grandmother had sat with Thengel King at almost every council meeting during his reign, but he was not certain how that had been received by the lord of the Mark.

He would discuss it with her before he made the decision, or rather, he would offer the invitation and see what she made of it.

0x0x0

Lothiriel shifted her feet a little so that Caelon could rest without her shifting feet of legs disturbing him. The dear boy had come to sit with her as soon as the council had let out for the day and Eomer had gone to his study. She imagined that Caelon had meant to lay out by the hearth, but that in his elevated way of thinking had decided that she was much better company for him to keep during his naps.

Lothiriel took careful notes as Lord Fulgar carried on the lessons that he had started a week before. The old man had taken great cares not to seem partial to one way of thinking or another as he went through the histories of the Mark and legal precedents. Of course, it went without saying that Eomer’s word was law, and that he could undo anything that stood presently, but Lothiriel had expressed an interest in knowing where most of the laws stood currently, and why. She wanted to understand and was an avid pupil. These lessons were held in the Great Hall, and in sight of any who might think to walk through, so that there would be no insinuation of impropriety, as if she would accept such a thing from the bloated old man.

“I know that it is likely a thing said without a full understanding of this country,” Lothiriel said, shaking her aching hand and cracking her knuckles, “but I do wish sometimes that there were better records of these matters that I might study.”

Fulgar chuckled, “I know that it may seem backwards to you, but there is some merit in the oral traditions that we hold.”

“I do not doubt it,” she mused, a thought beginning to form. She did all in her power to look down as if she was embarrassed, a small smirk forming on her lips as Lord Fulgar took the bait.

“Your Grace?”

“It is an idea that I am certain will be seen as… reaching. But might we find some way that we could teach our people to read? Perhaps we might put some money into raising schools?”

Lord Fulgar mulled this over, taking a seat at the table as he thought it over, “I do not know how we would do so. Most children learn at their mother’s sides.”

“I know it,” she smiled, “I have learned much simply from sitting with my ladies and hearing them tell stories to their children. I was only considering that perhaps if there was a standard of things learned, well we might do well in future to have such things. If such a thing could be achieved, we might have a more… succinct history, and a clearer understanding of the past, and therefore our own future,” she could see the gears in Lord Fulgar’s mind turning as he took in this idea, clearly trying to think of a reason that someone would speak against it. She went on, “And, though it might perhaps be a more selfish idea, it would ensure that the women of this country might have some time for themselves, either for some peace or else be able to do more work about the house and homestead?”

“It is a worthy endeavor. At present I do not think that we would be able to afford such a thing…” Lord Fulgar said, thinking still, “though I suppose the main issue does come down to whether or not such attendances would be deemed compulsory by the Crown. In some of the farming villages children of a certain age are needed to help their families at the work.”

“I had not considered that point,” she admitted, almost sighing, her mouth twisting to one side.

“I am certain that as things in the Mark stabilize that we will be able to explore this concept with a better overview of expense and, more importantly detail,” Lord Fulgar smiled at her, “and we shall thus be able to take the time to work this plan out.”

There was a brightening in her face as she took the hope of success, trying not to feel so galled that she still needed to play the dainty lady to have her ideas taken into account. For all that it had succeeded thus far, she wondered how long she would be able to maintain this playact. She wondered how much longer it would be before she was respected for her merits but knew that asking so and directly might be seen as reaching for some approval, or else some reflection of her own ambition... but there was a way that she might be able to make the point to the Chief Councilor.

“We shall certainly need to have no fault to such a design if the lords of this land are to take it seriously,” she said, almost wistfully, “and not consider me too ambitious.”

Lord Fulgar studied her, and it seemed that the words had the effect that they were meant to, as he seemed to actually consider them, “Might I ask a terribly impertinent question, Your Grace?”

She nodded at him and raised her brows.

“Why is it that you did not have the lot of us drawn, or call down some curse on our heads? I for one am certainly thankful for it, but I do believe that the question stands, does it not?”

Lothiriel let her shoulders bob a little, “I know my place.” She bit back the smile that fought to widen over her face, “I did not want to cause some unrest in the country, and had been… I considered it better to let the matter rest.” And that the entire council could then stew in abject terror over what Eomer King would do when he returned to Edoras, a thing that seemed to have been achieved, at least.

“Your Grace, I would advise, if I may, that if such a thing should arise again… you have been gracious beyond what we deserved, what I deserved, and I know that I am for one quite pleased to still have my head attached, but…”

“Do not feel that you should not speak freely. You know that I do hold your council in high regard,” she smiled, and hoped that she was not laying it on too thick, and needing to see if he was coming to the idea on his own.

Lord Fulgar leaned forward a little, holding her gaze, “There may come a time where your graciousness will be seen as weakness, and those lords that may think to take advantage of your forgiveness will do so.”

“Then what is it that you would suggest? For I have heard it said that I should not act as my lord husband, no matter how I might like to be able to lose my temper…”

“By simply reminding them that you are Queen and will not tolerate it. Put us all in a corner, if you must,” Lord Fulgar smiled, a little awkwardly, “You are as a mother to all of the Riddermark, even to the lords of the King’s Council. Sometimes a child must have their hand smacked, or be scolded.”

“Would I be wrong in thinking that you only give this council now that you are certain that you would be excused from any such shaming?” Lothiriel smirked at him, cutting his declaration that it was not so with a gentle raise of a brow.

“Well, perhaps…” he flustered a little, “Though I might say that the fear we have all lived with this last week, namely the manner in which Eomer King would think to handle the matter might have served as a reminder of propriety already.”

She leaned back in her seat, “Did he scream and throw things?”

“No,” Lord Fulgar looked down at his folded hands, “though he was hardly offering cake and tea. He was in his quiet way, you know… all composed, but if anyone had thought to excuse my behavior he would have erupted.”

There was something strange in the way one corner of her mouth lifted a little at that, as if she considered the potential of his violent defense of her honor to be some sweet thing, and not for the first time, Lord Fulgar was reminded that though Lothiriel Queen was sweet and young, there was a fire in her, and perhaps some small amount of vindictiveness, but that look fell away.

“I beg your pardon,” she smiled more gently, “I should not find amusement in such things.”

“You should do as you will,” Lord Fulgar said, “and besides, it is only you and I here, and I certainly have no intention of letting the wall down on you. The harm that Eomer King would have done would likely have fallen on my shoulders the most, as I was most at fault. As you have clearly spoken on my behalf to His Majesty, I am forever in your debt.” There was something almost fatherly in the look that he gave her before he brought himself back to the point at hand, “You have strength in you, Your Grace, a spine of iron if I am right. You should not be so afraid to show that strength.”

“Will they not call me some tyrant, and think that I seek to supplant the authority of my lord husband?”

“If they think to grumble over Your Grace taking what respect and honor is rightfully yours, then I will tell Eomer King and yourself at first I hear of it, my lady,” Lord Fulgar bowed his head for a moment.

The steadfast loyalty was a surprise, and what surprised her more was that Lothiriel believed him. She had lived so much of her life not certain of the fealty of anyone beyond what she might be able to provide for them, and it was likely that Lord Fulgar sought to improve his station further by his closeness with the Queen, or else thought to shape her thoughts to his own, but there was not yet any true sign of such a thing. She knew that she would need to keep an eye to any request that he might make of her, and she would hope that he was earnest in his vows. But there was something in having one that had been almost certainly an enemy as a defender, however it was that she had come by him being so, that made her want to preen.

“I know that you are young, and as such might suffer under some self-consciousness in your bearing, but in time that will pass, Your Grace,” Lord Fulgar went on, “Would that you had been given more time to come to terms with your new station, and that you had been able to live in the Mark for a time before your coronation…”

Lothiriel did her best to look past the casual way that she was being patronized, and after a moment she decided to try her hand at his advice.

“…and in time you will grow into the role…” Lord Fulgar’s eyes widened a little at the calm and yet irritable look that she was giving him, “Your Grace.

"I know that you have lived most of your life with the assumption that you should let the men lead, but you are a Queen, and in spite of a few differences of opinion, I consider it an honor to serve you, Your Grace. If anyone else hesitates to see the honor that has been given them, make it clear that you wear a crown, and that any privilege or holding they have can be taken away from them by your will."

“I do hope that you do not think that my patience and graciousness would extend to being patronized in such a way,” she said in a cold voice, watching the blood drain out of the lord’s face before she broke into a wide smile. “How was that?” she asked as if she had never had the courage to speak so, as if she had not been a princess living in one of the most esteemed courts on the continent.

“Very well done, Your Grace.”

She let out a quick chuckle, “Alright, back to the work at hand, or we will likely spend the whole day going on and on.” She pointedly looked back to her pages, keeping her smile light and innocent.

Perhaps she should feel badly about manipulating the man, but it seemed to be working in her benefit so far. There was some part of her that had become far more comfortable without the masks that her entire life had been required of her. She might be out of practice, or else perhaps she was trying too hard, but she was beginning to feel guilt over taking advantage of his trust, especially when it did seem that he was trying so hard to help her.

0x0x0

For a moment she had not realized that Eomer had come into their rooms. Lothiriel sat curled up on the chaise by the window, using the last bits of day light to read, her nose firmly stuck in her book. He knew that he should announce himself, but he liked seeing her in these moments when she was occupied or thought that she was alone. There was a slight furrow in her brow as she turned a page, and chewed on the side of her thumb.

After a moment, he let out a breath, and spoke, “You know, my dearest, I do like the changes that you made in here.” There was the smallest sense of satisfaction as she startled at his presence, though her face widened into a smile as she saw him. Taking that as a sign that she would not scold him, he went on, “perhaps I would not be opposed to allowing you to redecorate as you see fit. I had not considered how much these rooms wanted a woman’s touch.”

“Well, by your leave, the first thing I would take down is that tapestry,” she looked back at the war scene that stretched over one of their walls.

“That is a family piece,” he scolded with no malice.

“And I suppose you have no others that might be used?” her head tilted a little as she smirked. They both knew how this argument would end, even if it was in fact a true argument.

Eomer kissed her brow and smoothed a few loose tendrils of hair back from her face, “Very well.”

“How was your day?” Lothiriel asked, adjusting her position to make room for him to sit by her.

“The meeting went quickly and smoothly, and I have been trying to decide if I should rule by fear and avoid ever needing to listen to them all clucking like hens,” he said with a small groan as he sat. He pulled her stockinged feet up into his lap, “The only complain I would have might be the entire archive of notes that you left me.”

“Have I done wrong?” she demanded, laughing, “The next time, I will leave you nothing and you will simply have your angry councilors to tell you what has been done. And then I will tell you that they speak falsely, and you may just go back and forth between us.”

“That does indeed sound far worse,” he allowed, “and you? I heard that you were with Lord Fulgar most of the day in the Great Hall? Was it another lesson?”

“Of a sort,” her smile was wicked in its mischief, “I may have guided him along to the point of view that I should be allowed to regally tell the lot of them to get stuffed if they ever speak to me in such a way again.”

“My lady,” Eomer gasped, “such language! What would your kin think of it?”

She giggled, “In truth, he might be of the opinion that the advice was his alone, and that it came to him naturally… does that make me a bad person?”

“Not if you use such dark crafts for good,” Eomer muttered, beginning to massage one of her feet, “How long do you imagine you will need to play the fainting damsel with him?”

“Another few months perhaps?” she groaned, laying back against the arm of the chaise, her eyes sliding shut under the attentions of his careful hands, “though I do wish I need not employ such tricks at all. Perhaps by the time we have children, be any of them girls, they will be judged on their competence more than whether or not they might enable men to feel better about themselves for giving our daughters their ears, or the respect that they are due.”

“I do not think it should be necessary, and I hate that is has been…” Eomer grumbled before he faltered, “You were raised for this position, and born for governing as far as I am concerned… perhaps you might come to sit with me at the meetings so that they would come to understand that you are knowledgeable and should be listened to.”

“They might say that I have coerced you in some way.”

“The only way that I am able to think that they might have such an idea is if they thought that you were using a different sort of feminine wiles against me, for I am a stubborn man."

“How absurd,” she smirked, considering for a moment the nature of his stubbornness, for though she had seen it, that pigheadedness had been directed at her infrequently, “I have not those sorts of charms at all.”

He let out a rumbling chuckle, “I shall make it a hangable offense to infer that you do,” he switched his attention to her other foot. “Though before I do so,” he squeezed her ankle, “I will say that you are quite capable of charming me into doing whatever you would like.”

She kicked at him languidly, enjoying the leisure of the moment far more than she ought to.

“What are you reading?” he asked, having assured himself that she had relaxed again.

“The Revenge of the Mariner,” she said with a sigh, “it is not the sort of book a lady should read, but sometimes I enjoy such stories.”

“Is it lurid?”

"Perhaps a little. It is not high art, but rather an adventure tale of vengeance and murder.”

That pricked his ears up, “Oh?”

“It starts when a rake takes up with a widow, and the widow’s child recounts how the rake squandered their family fortune on women and gambling. The widow dies, and with her last breath, she tells her son to find the rake and avenge them and their family honor.”

“Does he manage to do so?”

“I have not gotten that far,” she looked back at him, “You are welcome to read it when I am through with it.”

“Have you other such books that you consider not right that you read?”

“A few…” she admitted, “They are all in one of my chests in the dressing room.”

“Well, ensure that you have some shelves brought in for your books. Any that you like, of course, but I would take interest in any of these adventure stories that you have so carefully hidden.”

She sat up a little as he released her feet, “If you read them all, I could write to Erchirion to send more.”

“And I had considered him a friend!” Eomer scoffed, sitting back, “And I find that he has been helping you in keeping such interesting secrets! What other things has he helped you to hide?”

“He is my brother, and though you and he are friends, his loyalty is to me,” she crawled over to him.

“I shall remember that in future,” he grumbled as she sat on his lap, dedicating himself as well as he could to the idea that her proximity and the fact that she initiated such tenderness did not change the clear and absolute betrayal that had been inflicted on him. Though when she rested her head against his shoulder, any pretense of, or imagined anger melted out of him. His arms wrapped around her middle, holding her close, keeping her against him. There was a sudden and inexplicable need to keep her and hold her.

It was the complete opposite of the skittish way that she had been months before, flinching away from him or accepting his touch with a nervous tremor, save the times that she curled against him to sleep. Though he wondered now if it had been nerves that had sent those shivers through her. Whenever she did this, came to him on her own he was reminded of how much she trusted him, and how he in turn trusted her.

It occurred to him that perhaps he had taken such trust in people for granted, having always considered himself deserving of such trust. Since the… incident that had led to Leowella’s expulsion from court, he had never given any true consideration to the fact that he had squandered so much trust on an assumption of understanding, though there had been the faintest sense of guilt since the moment it had been pointed out to him. He had been trying to work out if he should try to make amends to any of the women that had been hurt by his brazen disregard for explanation, but had not been able to find a way to do that without dredging up what might be uncomfortable conversations or…

Lothiriel’s head shifted and she looked at him with a small quirk to her lips, and he remade the same promise to her, without saying it aloud, that he would strive to be worthy of her trust, and of the way that she looked at him. Stroking her cheek, he let his face soften, pushing away all those thoughts of remorse and wrongdoing, but not quickly enough it seemed, for that mild twist came into her brow as she ran a thumb over his, working the firm set out of his forehead.

“What are you thinking of?” she breathed the words out so concern-laden that it twisted something in his chest.

He shook his head slowly and minutely, “I was considering my fortunes.”

Her unpretentious smile was back in place for a moment before she moved to get up, and his arms reflexively released her, though he immediately regretted it.

“We should prepare for table,” she said, going through to give herself a look.

He hovered in the space behind her, watching her go through the process of ensuring that she looked appropriate. Heohild would be along shortly, he guessed, to right anything that needed it, though he thought that she looked perfect for all the small signs of disarray.

She plucked a few hairs from her skirts, some were her own and some were Caelon’s, as the sweet dear liked to lean on her leg whenever he walked beside her, and she made a note to herself to ensure that Heohild gave her skirts a quick brushing.

Looking back at Eomer and his silly lovesick look, she smiled, shaking her head a little, “You always stare so,” she muttered.

“Should I not?” he asked, a low growl rubbing at the edges of his words as he slowly made his way to her to run his hands over her shoulders and down her arms.

“At times it makes me feel uncomfortable,” she admitted, “as if you are waiting for me to do something, and I do not know what it is.”

His hands roamed back up, savoring the feel of velvet and then of warm, soft skin. The backs of his fingers made the slow exploration of the back of her neck, brushing at a few loose curls that formed corkscrews at the base of her head, “You needn’t do anything at all. I have a beautiful wife, and I like looking at you.” He could tell that she rolled her eyes by the way that her head moved, and he frowned, and bit back the assurances that pressed in his throat. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, peering at her reflection in the polished metal mirror, a smile threatening to break over his face. He reached up and tilted her chin up, running a finger along the shape of her jaw before he lightly tapped the end of her nose and withdrew from her at the light knock on the door

One of her hands swatted at him playfully before calling Heohild in. The vaguely knowing look that Heohild tried to hide did not escape Lothiriel’s notice, and she gave a look of gentle exasperation as Eomer went to find some place in the room where he would not be in the way.

“The trouble with velvet, lovely as it is,” Heohild said with some mirth, as she brushed Lothiriel’s skirts, “it holds every hair and fiber for dear life.”

“An over-robe, do you think?” Lothiriel asked.

Heohild looked thoughtful, very aware of Eomer’s disinterest as he dropped into a chair by the window, “The blue, I think would go best with the gold,” she trailed a hand over the deep yellow of her gown.

Lothiriel nodded, “Indeed, though perhaps I should not, as you have put such care into making my skirts presentable.”

“Do not think of it, I would have done anyhow to ensure the dog hair does not travel,” Heohild chuckled as she stood.

When Heohild went through to the wardrobe to find the over robe that she was thinking of, Lothiriel looked back at her husband, and was surprised that at some point he had gone to the sitting room to fetch her illicit book from the settee and had sat back down reading from it with more interest than she could remember ever having seen him give to any written word.

“You should see about taking someone on for your dressing,” she said with all the appropriate tone of a well-worn discussion.

He let out a hum, signifying that he had heard her and did not think that her words warranted anything more than that.

Not discouraged, she went on, “You might give Eothain the charge, as I think it might keep him out of trouble.”

“He is perfectly fine as a guard,” Eomer said, still not looking up, but he smirked, “Has Waerhild been complaining of his position?”

“All I will say on that score is that I never want to hear another word about me keeping things from you. A tree? Really?”

A slight coloring came over Eomer’s cheeks, “In our defense, we were rather intoxicated.”

“Which is the basis for my incredulity.”

Then there was more to her teasing remarks, if her use of such grand words was being used, Eomer knew, “I will not do it again, you have my word. The verbal thrashing that old man Gamling gave us was enough to ensure that.”

“Oh, that reminds me. Should we not see to it that a few of the older men be given some peace in their old age?”

“Oh, I agree. Lord Fulgar is getting a bit long in the tooth, is he not?”

“Noted,” she smirked.

“In truth, I think that if the elders wished to take some retirement that they would say so. I think they fear uselessness more than death.”

“I can sympathize,” she admitted as Heohild came back into the room to help dress her.

Eomer watched the whole of the making over with some interest and he wondered at all the steps and requirements of perfection that Lothiriel felt obligated to take on to herself. Perhaps that was what being a queen was, and he knew that it was, to look the part.

The one thing that he could take from all of her fineness and frippery was that he had learned how to undo the supportive underthings that she still wore most days. She had teased him that it was good training for sail work, and that he would likely be a good sailor when the time came for it, a notion that made him want to lock them both into the hall and never go near any body of water larger than a puddle.

Heohild, behind Lothiriel’s back gave the King an inquisitive look as she held one of the veils, as if conspiring with him to have his own way. The handmaid was well aware of His Majesty's preferences when it came to Lothiriel's hair and the covering thereof. He gave a dismissive look to the sheer fabric, and Heohild bowed her head a fraction.

“My lady, I may be rather above myself to say, but these braids are quite complicated, and it might be a shame not to show that you are taking such customs on,” the maid said as Lothiriel sat at her vanity.

The Queen turned her head and looked over the effects that had been done in her hair and nodded, “Perhaps so.”

“Circlet?”

“A slim one, though,” Lothiriel answered, running a fingertip under her eyes. There was some slight puffiness there, and she worried that Eomer would once again think that she had taken on too much, and that he might consider revoking the invitation to the council. She dabbed one of her ointments to the slight imperfections and hoped that they would help.

“Of course, my lady,” Heohild curtsied, taking the veil back to the dressing room and shooting Eomer a look of surprise that their small deception had worked. Was she being too familiar with the royals? Likely, but neither of them had said a word about it, and it did seem to amuse them both.

If it would not have drawn her attention, Eomer would have thrown a fist in the air at the victory, a thing he wanted to do every time that he got his way. It was likely a breach of Lothiriel’s trust, he thought, though only a minor one, and she had been, of late, rather more comfortable with showing her hair. He would come clean at some point, when he found a way to explain Heohild’s helpfulness to his silly causes without giving the impression that Heohild was in agent in some way.

He sank back into the chair and opened the book again, a smug sort of look hidden in the pages, oblivious to the look that Lothiriel gave the murky impression of him in the mirror, or that she could see him in that surface at all.

0x0x0

“Have you lost possession of your good sense?!” Faramir demanded, staring at his wife. In truth, the darkest and least forgiving parts of his psyche had thought it likely that something of this sort was the cause for Leowella’s sudden appearance, but he had not thought that it would have gone as far as what Eowyn was telling him now. Thank the Valar that Eomer had the decency not to break his marriage vows, or he would have needed to call him out, or write him a very strongly worded letter more like. 

“I did as Lothiriel asked,” Eowyn said, taking hold of her own temper and trying to toss it down back from the pit of her stomach.

“Oh? Did she ask you to keep this from me?”

With a deep breath, Eowyn went on, “Lothiriel and I agreed that it was not appropriate for Leowella to stay in the court at Meduseld, and I brought her here so that she could have a clean slate. I should have told you all, I know, but I thought that it would hinder her abilities to live here.”

“Why should she live here?! We are not some charitable institution! Let her go to a convent,” Faramir mumbled, knowing that Eowyn had acted with kindness, but his fury at the deception overwhelmed his senses, “Will we be using our good name and honorable house to offer protection to every would-be adulteress?”

“I do doubt it, as you seem perfectly comfortable to let Elphir’s mistresses go as they will when he is through with them.”

“That is not what we are discussing,” he picked up the decanter of wine, having an overwhelming need for a drink. He had all but given up bending Elphir's ear about honor and propriety.

“Why? Because in that case it is a member of your family misbehaving, and is therefore acceptable to your great and noble ideals?” Eowyn called back at him, the question seemed to hit its mark, and she should have taken the victory of it and been pleased enough, but having for a moment the upper hand, she pressed on, “For all your temper when that letter came, I think that you would have forgiven him the insult, had my idiot brother actually betrayed Lothiriel, because he is a man! But Leowella would never be given that grace, would she?”

Faramir slammed the decanter back on the sideboard, “How is it that I am being lectured over assumptions that your mind has made up so that you can feel better about your deceit?!”

“Then I should hang my head and allow you to lay even more guilt on me? When I am trying to confess? You are being childish!” she snapped, dropping into a chair and rubbing at the back of her neck.

The retort, as insulting as he found her words stopped short of his teeth as he saw the way that Eowyn sat, she seemed exhausted by it all. He considered the heavy burden that she had taken on in an attempt to help another, and he poured her some wine, the golden color glimmering in the glass like some strange gem. As she took the glass, she gave him a look of such regret that his temper simmered a little more. She took the smallest sip and turned her face back up to him again with an imperceptible look.

He took a breath, looking down at the decanter as he poured himself a glass, “No more lies.”

She nodded slowly, “No more.”

Faramir took her hand, “In truth, I will be angry over this for some time, but I suppose I understand… in a way,” he took another breath, “So… what is the plan from here?”

“I think we should get her settled in some way. I have already spoken to Leowella and have been assured that she has no intentions on Erchirion.”

He bit back on an illusion to what he might consider a sort of light morality on Leowella’s end, and decided to phrase his concerns in a different way, “Are we certain that she would be able to hold fast to that vow?”

After a moment of reflection, Eowyn answered to the best of her ability, “I think that her assertion that she has sworn off the attentions of men might hold true, but if that changes, I do believe we will both know of it.”

“Is Leowella not a subtle one?” Faramir smirked.

“She is as subtle as your good and foolish cousin,” the response had the desired effect of Faramir chuckling and holding his glass out to her. The sweet ringing and musical note of clinking glass seemed to overwrite the argument that they both still wanted to have, but which they both knew would end in a stubborn stalemate.

It was better to move forward that to continue to wade through the murky water of moral ambiguity, a cesspool that they had both contributed in their own ways, Faramir thought. Though, of course, Faramir was of the opinion that he was the least wrong a person could be in this argument, but he had learned already that taking the moral high ground only created trouble for him in the long run.

Standing, he kissed her cheek, “We should be ready for dinner, my love.”

Eowyn clasped his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before she got to her own feet and went to look for some flaw in her clothing or hair that would need to be rectified.

The hurdle had been leapt over and cleared, and with less screaming than she had anticipated. But she knew her husband well enough by now to know that his words were truer than he thought. He would try to smother the indignation, and to let the past lay, but she knew that for all of his attempts, it would be some time before she could be certain that he had in fact forgiven her, and that the next time they quarreled that he would not bring it up and throw it back at her.

She loved her husband, but she did not always think that she was the best suited to married life, at least not to so high a lord as the one that she had chosen. It was a comfort that he still liked the small infractions to the social compact that she made from time to time, and that there were moments when he seemed so close to throwing all of those proprieties into the fireplace, and join her in the comfort of being himself.

Perhaps she should have told him of her suspicions before she confessed her wrongdoing, but if she was right, she did not want the first time that she told him that she might be pregnant to end in an argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Decemberists song "The Mariner's Revenge might have popped up as I was writing and might have inspired Lothiriel's secret books.
> 
> I should have a new chapter up soon, so check back with me in a bit!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't been updating as quickly as I used to, and as quickly as I thought I'd be doing, but the chapters have been fighting me, this one especially, though I'm not sure why... well at least not entirely. I'm a bit nervous about the way that a section of this story will be taken. It isn't angsty, rather it's a bit silly. Let me know what you think, but be kind?

The council meeting hung over Lothiriel’s head like a dark storm cloud that had not yet decided to release the downpour. When she had last been at that table, things had been amicable enough, and she knew the matters set out for discussion, and that she would have her husband beside her. She had been there through so many meeting without him, but now she felt anxious, and for no reason that she could honestly think of, at least not one that upon further inspection was rather ridiculous.

What if they saw this as her usurping power that was not hers to have? They might have all accepted her rule when there was no alternative, but would they accept her having opinions and being aware, in a first-hand way, to the running of the country when their king was present?

If they did feel so, they would not be able to say a word about it, at least not to her face. Eomer King had extended the invitation and had considered it right that she be present, and so, what was there to do but accept it? The worst case was that there would be unfavorable gossip, but she could likely manage that easily enough, and if not her, as could Lord Fulgar, as long as he remained true to his word and actually defended her.

But these rationalizations, and calm logical thoughts did little to slow the rapid beating of her heart.

“Are you well, Your Grace?” Heohild asked, pulling Lothiriel from her thoughts.

“Hm?” Lothiriel stared at the muddled reflection of her maid, “yes, of course.”

“I would be terribly nervous,” Heohild went on in a light voice, “going before the council, but you have done it so oft that by now it must seem to you so simple.”

Lothiriel let out a humming sound, letting Heohild know that she had been heard, and that she was of course right. There was nothing to be afraid of.

“And you have managed to get the Ealdormen to heel, which is no small feat.”

“The threat of Eomer King’s temper brought them to heel, not my dainty and ladylike hospitalities,” Lothiriel muttered before she had thought to stop herself.

“You did what you thought best at the time.”

“Yes,” Lothiriel made herself smile, “I am simply thinking too long on something simple.”

Heohild twisted another braid with careful fingers before she pinned it in place, “I do not know that I should speak as freely as I have been doing, my lady queen… I am your maid, and not of a station to do so…”

“But I give you leave to,” Lothiriel said, wondering what had brought this self-reflection on, and if it was only offered as a plaintive begging not to be flogged for something that Heohild was going to say. She was distinctly aware of the differences in their stations, and she had tried to take every kind word as true, and not a thing offered out of duty. There was a genuine sort of care about the young woman, and Lothiriel hoped that it was as earnest as it seemed. She studied the pale face behind her, the green eyes focused on the work that her hands did, and the smallest of furrows in Heohild’s brow.

“You are thus far much beloved by the people,” Heohild went on, “and I should think that such would matter more than whether or not some stuffy and self-important nobles like you.”

“It should be,” Lothiriel agreed.

“I have no head for politics or for scheming, but from what I have heard in the kitchens, most of the country seems to find you a kind and loving soul. Your plans, though debated by those who think that they know better, seem to be common sense to those that work the fields and the markets. That you have sought to learn how farming is done has endeared you to the common folk.”

That well-meaning sentiment added another thought to Lothiriel’s mind. If something went awry, would it be the common people that she would need to turn to more than the lords that had pledged their loyalty to her? Though, she considered, if she kept the love of her people, there would be less that could be done or said of her. She was thinking too much, she knew she was, but she could not make herself stop.

Forcing another smile, Lothiriel spoke, “That does help, Heohild. I know that it might be… unexpected, but I do consider you a friend. I should like to hear your thoughts, and not have you worry so over what others will think or say of anything that you do say.” It was strange to give such advice, when Eomer had been saying such things to her for months now. She turned to smile at Heohild, “I do consider you to be a friend, and you have been a… calming influence through the last few months. When I first came here, I did not know anyone, or anything, and I would have been a mess without you.”

Heohild’s face turned up a bit, as if not believing any of what Her Grace was saying. She liked Lothiriel Queen, and was loyal to her, but she was not so close to her as to think that they were friends in truth. There were things that she could never say in her position. If they were friends, it would be the sort of friendship that would be based on the queen’s comfort alone, and not a equal sharing of their problems.

“Truly!” Lothiriel laughed at her handmaid’s face.

“If you say so, You Grace,” Heohild chuckled, “Though, I can hardly imagine you being a mess… now turn your head back so that I can finish this!” Heohild continued pinning the hair in place, “Veil or no?”

“I do think I ought to,” Lothiriel smiled, “Best to be the most proper as possible?”

“All will be well,” Heohild smiled balefully, “If you are concerned that one of those gits might mouth off at you again, you needn’t. I doubt any of them would have the gall to do so again, especially with His Majesty sitting next to you.”

“Perhaps that makes it all the worst,” Lothiriel teased, “for if one of them says the wrong thing then my lord husband might hurl the entire table at them.”

“That would be a sight,” Heohild said, in a low voice as she twisted the veil about Lothiriel’s neck and pinned it in place, “you might see if I could be given a seat at all meetings going forth.”

“I might do,” Lothiriel chuckled in response, “how are things with your young man?”

“They are quite well,” Heohild blushed a little.

“Are they?”

“Ceorl is such a kind soul,” there was a sweet way to Heohild said the man’s name, and Lothiriel smiled at her reflection, “He tries to compose lines for me, and I haven’t the heart to tell him that they are not very good.”

“The effort is what matters most.”

“Indeed, it is.”

“Perhaps it is an impertinent question, but do you think you will marry him?”

“I might, if he was of a mind to ask.”

“Is he not of such a mind?”

Heohild laughed, “We have not yet been courting a year! I think that we might in time marry, but we have not been together quite long enough. I suppose that is the benefit of common birth. Are arranged marriages done with the common folk in Gondor, or only for ladies fine as yourself?”

It was a question that Lothiriel had not anticipated, but she gave Heohild a small smile, “In truth they are not common in the noble class even, not in the way that it might be thought of, I mean. There is some maneuvering between families, to introduce people that they think would be a good match, and to see if they would like each other well enough. My own marriage was unorthodox even by my own culture.”

“Truly?” Heohild asked, “I thought it was the ‘done thing’…”

“Not largely,” Lothiriel said, “that was why I was in such a state about my betrothal, though I suppose it worked out for the best.”

“More than that,” Heohild gave her shoulder a squeeze, “the bards are going to be quite occupied coming up with all sorts of poetic introductions and tales of your marriage.”

With a roll of her eyes, Lothiriel stood to look herself over. She adjusted the medallion at her collar. “That is their purpose I suppose, but I do hope that they are able to write something more original that I am imagining. I suspect there will be the usual sort of thing, that Eomer King found me by chance in some glen or other and he saw me dancing, and he was so in love with me then and there.”

“Well, you are a lovely dancer.”

The queen leveled a look at Heohild who burst into fresh peals of laughter at that as she tidied up the vanity.

“Do not laugh, I am trying to look terrifying!” Lothiriel said, her own giggle tearing through her indignation.

“That look might work on those fools, but it will not work so well on me,” Heohild said, her eyes still on her cleaning.

The sound of the door opening drew their attention to Eomer King. He had come to wash from his ride and to bring Lothiriel Queen to council and though he had expected her to be nervous about the day, hearing his wife and her maid laughing and talking made him feel a little better about the way that things would go. If Lothiriel could laugh, then she could not be as nervous as he had feared that she would be.

Seeing him, Lothiriel and Heohild dropped into their respective curtsies, though Lothiriel’s could have been considered less respectful than the one that her maid gave.

“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” Heohild inquired, already moving toward the door, and knowing the answer before it was given.

“No, thank you, Heohild,” Lothiriel smiled, making yet another note to herself to ask Heohild more questions about her own life. If they were to be friends, and if she was going to be able to trust to everything that her handmaid told her, there should not be as many boundaries between them as seemed present now.

It was another one of those things that she had never really given much thought to until now, rather it was another of those learned behaviors that made Lothiriel wonder all the more if she was a little too self-centered. She had lived so much of her life assuming that things revolved around her, but then she had been so thoroughly spoiled by her uncle in the last few years, that it might only be natural. In that case she might not scold herself too terribly, but she should still take a look at her own behavior and see if there was some way that she might improve herself.

“You look absolutely beautiful,” Eomer said in that low tone of voice that she recognized well enough in him by now.

A pert turn to quirked at the corners her mouth and she pointedly looked away from him, “Do not try to muss my hair!”

“I would never think of it,” Eomer said, waiting patiently for her, “though I might point out that if I did such a thing, there is not a soul that would know it if you wore that covering over your hair.”

“I want to look as proper as I can manage!” Lothiriel snipped back at him.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Eomer bowed his head as if silently acknowledging the wisdom in her words, thought he still considered it a bit foolish. Had she put such efforts into her appearance through the entire time that he had been away? If such preparations had the desired outcome, he could hardly voice any opinion against them, but then, his wife did like her clothes and finery.

He had approved the allowance for her personal expenses, but he did wonder if she had tricked him into giving her the amount that she wanted. She did have fine tastes, and to his knowledge had not spent more than she was allotted, she loved the purchase new things. It was a wicked thought, and he should not think to ever admit it, he did like the idea of having a cunning wife. 

There were bolts of velvet and of other lovely fabrics that she had purchased to have clothes made for them, and though the fabrics that she had purchased for his clothes were lovely, he did not have the same concern for appearances that she did. It was likely better that he had married her, as he would have clothed himself in the same worn things until his clothing fell apart, or that were held together entirely by her own stitching and mending, and Lothiriel had made it clear that such a thing was not kingly.

He ran a finger over some finely woven burgundy fabric, and he wondered if it was destined to be a new dress or a tunic. He liked the color, and he considered laying claim to it for his own use. He could imagine Lothiriel chuckling at him and his minor avarice and would hardly be able to offer any argument that would not make her case.

“Are you ready?” Eomer asked, remembering himself as he saw Lothiriel leaning in the door of the dressing room, watching him with amusement painted over her face.

“Yes, my lord,” her hand reached out to him, almost tentatively as if calling him along to their duties with that dainty and soft hand.

Taking her hand in his, he cupped her face with his other hand, “We will rule together, and I want them to know that, as I want you to.”

It was the sort of thing that he had said before, but that she had not put much stock in, the sort of thing that was said to alleviate anxieties, or to coax advice from her. The fact that he wanted her to truly rule, rather than aiding in the running of the country behind closed doors, was a validation of her own ambitions, even as much as it scared her. What would people say?

His thumb stroked against her cheek again, pulling her closer, “You are intelligent, and capable, and I will not hide those attributes from the world. We will make the decisions together, and rule together.”

“You may come to regret that,” she said, her voice quiet and tinged with the disappointment that she knew would come when he decided that he would rather rule without her input.

There was a small shake in his head, “I need you. You made vows at our wedding, too, you know. To be my helpmate and to honor our marriage. I doubt that this is what you thought your oath would mean, but… it might not be the most romantic of notions, I grant you. I cannot claim that there was no part of our match that was not made with a practical purpose. For all of the infatuation that I felt for you, there was the fact that you would be well suited to the Queenship.”

“It is still better than what I thought our marriage was.”

“Oh, yes, your father’s ambitions?” Eomer asked as she pulled back, tugging on his hand as she went.

“And that I would be a headache for King Elessar. If I was going to be a nuisance, at least I would do so far from those that would be deemed responsible for me.”

Eomer pulled her hand into the crook of his arm, “Ah, hush with that now.”

“It is true, and you know it! I am quite impossible.”

“I have been advised that it is a thing not worth the effort to tell one’s wife that she is wrong, and so I will not, but I will state that my lack of objection is on that basis alone,” he reached for the door and opened it for her.

“You sound like a lawmaker,” she teased.

“I do hope that the condition is not permanent,” he muttered, pulling her hand back into his keeping. He liked walking with her hanging on to his arm in her delicate way. He liked openly showing that they were a united front.

“It will last,” she said with a smirk, “I know you well enough to know that, at least.”

“Your confidence in me is astounding,” he deadpanned, folding his hand over hers, and taking a breath at the large door to the council chamber, as if for all of the assurances that he had meant to give her to ensure that she had nothing to fear, that he was still far from eager to be attending any meeting at all, let alone one in which he was introducing a change to the way that such things were to be done.

There was precedent for having the reigning Queen on the council, but he could not rightly remember if any of these men had been on the council where there had been a Queen at all.

Lothiriel’s fingers squeezed his arm gently, encouragingly, bidding him not to worry. With a small quirk to her lips, she turned her gaze back to the door. She nodded to the door warden to announce them, and to open the door.

“Eomer King and Lothiriel Queen!” their names rang out in the wide and open space, and the men all rose to their feet, bowing respectfully, watching silently as Eomer pulled out the seat for his lady wife and ensured that she was comfortably seated before he took his own seat.

0x0x0

Faramir found his wife hunched over her desk, a small crinkle in her brow as she wrote in short strokes that looked like tallies, and fought a chuckle at her look of concentration, “Has your lord brother done some other great foolishness?”

Eowyn looked back, startled, until she registered the teasing look on his face, “No, why should you think that?”

“Well, you were looking positively thoughtful, and perhaps a little vexed.”

“I am not vexed, thought if I was, it could be over some matter other than something of my brother’s making.”

“There is your constant tending to Lady Leowella,” he teased on, “or one of my cousins if one of my cousins acted out some mischief… or if one of the other ladies of the court thought that she was witty but was instead a prat…”

“I am not vexed,” she muttered, her attention fixed on her sums.

“What is this that holds your attention so? I should think to be jealous of whatever it is, as it has stolen the kiss that my wife gives me whenever I return to our rooms at the end of the day…”

Her golden head tilted back, giving him a look that could be best described as patient, but only just, “I am working out something that might be of interest to you.”

He stooped to kiss her before asking, not being of the opinion that whatever household matter or bit of gossip was more important at present. Looking over the page, it seemed to be a sort of calendar, thought roughly drawn, “What is it, then?”

“I am trying to work out just how late I am,” she said, quiet and expectant.

“Late?” Faramir looked back to her, trying to recall any social obligation that had fallen by the side in the mad dash that the last few weeks had been.

Her smile spread slowly, waiting for him to catch up to her, and not seeing any sign of understanding, she spoke again, “If I have done my calculations correctly, I am two months along.”

Faramir’s eyes widened, looking at her a moment longer before his gaze traveled down, “Then…?”

“I believe so…”

The embrace was fierce and tight, and Faramir dragged her up out of the chair to look at her, though he could see no definite change that would signify any sort of development on that front.

There had not been much discussion of the matter of children between them beyond the fact that they had both wanted them, and he was at least relieved that

“Two months!” he exclaimed, “why have you not said sooner!?”

“I wanted to be certain, and I suppose I am as certain as one might be without seeing a midwife.”

“You have not seen a midwife? I will have one summoned!”

He was out of the room before Eowyn could call him back and tell him that she could do so in the morning. Distantly, faintly, she could hear him exclaiming as he went down the corridor, looking for someone that could be sent for this charge.

With a bit more decorum, she took a slip of parchment from her desk and started the letter to Eomer and Lothiriel to give them the good news. It was the sort of thing that would be in diplomatic releases, she knew, but she at least wanted to be able to tell her own family herself, at least in what ways she was able to tell them herself.

0x0x0

The entire affair had been the sort of thing that one would build up in anticipation of outcry and of outrage, but which then ended in the anticlimactic way of decency. The meeting had moved rather smoothly, with Lothiriel taking her careful notes, and listening. Not one of the old goats moved to speak out of turn or said a word about their mistakes in Eomer’s absence. They listened to Lothiriel’s suggestions and questions with the respect that she was owed.

When the adjourned for the day, Eomer stood with no small measure of care and thanked them all for their attentions and was already thinking about what would be brought for lunch. He knew that Lothiriel would drag him into a long and important conversation, wanting to iron out what their stance was on the minor issues that had been discussed, but more eagerly about the fact that the Sweat had completely abated.

“It will allow the bridge rebuilding to resume in Broadacres…” she said, settling into a chair near his desk as she flipped through the notes, “Now… there was the matter of the wool surplus… the numbers are rather meager.”

“For all your assertions that we must be patient, my dear, you do not seem to be quite as capable on the front as you would have us all believe.”

That look would have been withering had he not been so entirely certain of the affections that she bore him, “You are truly such an astute man. I do wonder how I shall manage to keep up with you.”

He sorted through the pages and petitions on his desk, and with the start of a headache, he began reading through them.

Their lunch was brought it, and it was eaten rather informally, as Eomer began leafing through petitions, and Lothiriel sorted through state letters. Most of the letters were of little importance, as they ever seemed to be. There was a general sort of news, how the weather had been, what the state of crops or goods of any country seemed to be. They would all require responses in kind, and Lothiriel wondered if she would be signing her own name to the replies as well, or if she would simply compose them and that Eomer would sign and seal them. She was as yet not entirely certain what it would mean to be ruling with her husband as an equal.

Looking up, she watched him, she noted the slow furrow that set itself in his brow, and the slow way that his jaw seemed to work over what he was reading. “Is all well?” she asked, knowing irritation when she saw it.

For a moment, he looked startled by the question, “Yes.”

“You looked out of sorts.”

“I suppose that is the look of concentration,” he muttered, looking back over the pages, “a farmer is asking for his lands to be extended, in keeping with the practice that he has taken to leasing land from his neighbor for the last eight years and sharing the profits of anything grown there…” Eomer’s head tilted back and forth as he went through the details.

She considered it, walking slowly over to look at the page in his hand, and taking her seat on his lap, “I believe that there exists a law that would allow it, but certainly there are quite a few things that must take place for it to be so…”

Without thought, Eomer shifted, making room for her and slipping an arm around her waist, “I know, and I do not think that enough of those qualifications are met here.”

“Then I suppose the best answer would be to have the petitioner come to plead their case,” she said, having read over the petition and seeing no basis for the claim, “perhaps they did not think to include such reasons, though I can hardly imagine why they would not.”

He let out a grumbled agreement before scribbling out a note and affixing it to the petition to ensure that the farmer was told when the next available petition day would be.

“I thought the Eorlinga did not write… at least not the common folk?” Lothiriel asked, looking over the other petitions that had come.

“No, but almost every village has a scribe, and in most cases those people are lords or officials of the crown. There are places throughout the country where anyone with grievances might seek the King’s Justice, be their plight some wrong done, or some property dispute.”

“How lovely,” she smiled, adding to Eomer’s note on the petition, wanting to remind one or both of them to see if there was any record of the properties in question that might help.

Eomer looked over her face as she picked up the next petition, seeming perfectly comfortable in her place, and not moving to pull her chair up beside him. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what she thought someone might say if they were caught in such a compromising position as this.

She read it through as carefully as she could, “…A woman wants her marriage absolved?” she asked, looking over the document, and holding it out to him to read. “It is mostly in Westron, but there are a few words in Rohirric, I think?” It was another complication when it came to a lack of written script for the language, as some sounds did not translate entirely to the symbols she knew.

Gingerly taking the page from her, he scanned it over, a smirk forming on his lips, “Indeed your grasp of our language is improving? Have you been studying? Do you know the reason for the request?”

Looking at the page in his hand, her face twisted a little, “Morgen-gifu… He did not give her the contracted morning gift?”

“Worse than that,” he chuckled, “the fool gifted her ten goats, and gambled seven of them away.”

“And he should not have done that,” Lothiriel said, in the tone of a dutiful student. Goats seemed a strange gift, and ten seemed too few of them, but it was not for her to say. This good woman had agreed to the gift and had thus must have been pleased by them.

“In effect, he has voided the compact, and more than that, he has stolen what belongs to her.”

“Absolve the marriage, and then have the blackguard thrown down a well.”

“Not a well, it would contaminate the water,” Eomer said as if he considered this option seriously, “Another request that will need to come hence.”

“Why?”

“Most petitions require a defense to at least be offered. Some petitions are… well, like the bridge that needs mended, easily sorted. Anything else will require, at least for the appearance of fairness that I hear both sides.”

“But you will grant the separation.”

“Undoubtedly, and he will owe her dearly for the loss of her property, though I… we will need to consider what the repayment should be.”

“Twenty goats,” Lothiriel said with a smirk.

“She will have more cheese than she will know what to do with,” Eomer chuckled, “but then she can sell the cheese and made a tidy living.”

Lothiriel nodded and made a note of the opinion, thinking that it might be considered right that a man that would go against his word would be forced to pay twice the agreed price. It seemed rather like a thing that would be seen as right in the Mark.

Though he was hesitant to admit it, having her commentary and opinions did make the work less tedious, and he considered that having her help might dampen her social life a little, but perhaps not as it seemed that they made their way through it all a bit more quickly than he had ever managed to do on his own.

“Are there always so many petitions?” Lothiriel asked after a few hours, when they had sorted through the petitions and letters and found agreements on initial opinions.

“I am of the opinion that there are always more of them in the spring,” he replied stretching a little, and groaning at the cracking sound that emanated from his lower back, “People stay in their houses all through the winter and thus have far too much time to think on all of the ways that their neighbors have irritated them, or to pick at the scabs of her irritation.”

“What a lovely image that paints,” she scoffed, standing to stretch her legs, and shaking a bit.  
“Have you anything else for the day?” he asked, watching her turn and stretch.

“I should see to the other women,” she peered through a window to judge the time, “I should get some sewing done, and see what fresh gossip there is.”

“Well do not crow too proudly over your new status, or they will all be clamoring for places on the council,” Eomer teased as she bent to kiss him.

“You could do far worse than my ladies and maids,” she whispered.

“I shall replace my Ealdormen at once,” he said, a slow purr that rippled down her spine.

“Good,” she pecked his lips, and made a quick escape before he could snatch her. She giggled at his groaning pleas that she come back into his arms as she twirled toward the door, “I shall see you this evening, my love.”

He answered only in a grumbled, “Yes, darling.”

0x0x0

“I hope that you do not find me forward,” Erchirion said, continuing a preamble that seemed to have no end, and which only made Leowella more and more nervous, “but I find that I rather enjoy your company, and hope most ardently that you feel that same?” He was so like a puppy in a way that twisted her heart.

“You are a very dear friend to me, of course,” Leowella said, hoping that such an affirmation would put whatever daydreams of further affection her friend had been laboring under.

There was a minor fading in his face, “Of course.”

“You are really an extraordinarily kind man, but I do not think that I should offer you anything beyond my friendship. I am not… There are things about me that you do not know, and that if you did… you would hate me.”

“I could never hate you.”

She stared at him for a moment, wanting to believe him, and then scolding herself for being so foolish.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” Erchirion’s hand found hers, “even if we are only ever to be friends, I should still like to be here for you.”

“Your sister, Her Grace Lothiriel Queen, sent me from court, and I think it was her intention that I find a husband here.”

“Were there no men in Rohan to your liking?” Erchirion asked, a teasing softness in his voice, “Of course not. What a question,” he leapt up on to a bench with dramatic flair, striking some pose that seemed fit for tapestries or some legend of old, “You were so taken with the romantic notion of the seafaring folk of the south that you simply needed to find yourself some swashbuckler or other.”

In spite of herself, Leowella found herself laughing at his stage voice, and wild hands, “If that is what you need to believe then I will allow you to think so.”

“What then?”

She looked around to be certain that no one would hear, and then realized how absurd it was. There was no way that she could tell him, her friend, the brother of the woman that had been her friend, and who she had hurt. Taking a few steps along the path through the garden, she shook her head.

“Now you must tell me,” Erchirion said, catching up to her, “are you a spy? A witch?”

“I broke Lothiriel Queen’s trust, and I am all but banished for it. I deserve worse.”

He faltered, “You… what did you do?”

“I will not speak of it, so you had best cease with your interrogations ere you exhaust yourself.”

“You should know at I am quite persistent, and more than that, I am annoying. So, you should simply tell me, or I will show you why it is that my family, and with less affection than I should like, call me ‘the pipes’!”

“You mean to scream?”

He scoffed and pulled a reed pipe from his purse, “I have never taken a lesson in all of my life, so the choice is yours.” When he saw her hesitation, he lifted the pipe to his lips and let out a few warbling, ear-piercing, off beat notes, and she considered recommending him as an interrogator for any who might be considered traitors.

“Fine!” she screamed to make him stop, “but you… you mustn’t tell a soul.”

“On my honor.”

She tilted her head, “I… Eomer… His Majesty… before he was king, we…”

A look of understanding came into Erchirion’s eyes, “Ah.”

Leowella nodded, “and I did not think that the Queen liked him… and I made a mistake.”

Erchirion’s head turned a little, “Did you…?”

“No, thank Bema… but I did try to…” she could not even make her mouth form the words to express what she had done, what she had tried to do, “and the King bid me leave, I did not, but your sister saw… she saw him being kind, and mistook…” she looked away, “and I was angry and embarrassed. I said things to her that I should not have, and she punched me in the face before banishing me from court.”

He should not have laughed, but he did. Pressing a hand to his mouth, he saw the look of rage flash over Leowella’s face. He held his hand up as if to ward on a blow, “I beg your pardon.”

“There can never be anything more than friendship between us,” Leowella went on, “your sister will likely still want my head on a stick.”

“Perhaps. She has quite a temper. She can hold a grudge better than anyone I know,” Erchirion mused, “and her husband is rather handsome, so I can imagine that she would be quite protective of her marriage.”

There was a tone in his voice that dragged Leowella’s attention back to her. It was not the tone of a man complimenting his friend, but something more than that, and she felt her eyes widen a little.

Erchirion shrugged a moment before taking in the look that he was being given, and he gave her a shrug, as if to brush off whatever perceived shock there was in Leowella’s face. 

“Does your family know… that you like…?”

“My brothers do. It is not an uncommon thing,” he said quickly as if it had only then occurred to him that she might find such a thing repulsive, “and I am as I am.”

“Then you… did you have some infatuation with your sister’s husband?!” Leowella asked, almost gleeful.

He thought for a moment before he answered, “One secret for another, and you must keep mine as I will yours,” he said.

“I swear.”

“I was hardly pining and writing sonnets or anything of the sort. I simply thought he was a decent fellow, easy to look at, but I think he was taken with my sister from the moment he laid eyes on her. If they had not made a match, I was going to make myself quite ridiculous in pushing the two of them together.”

“Then you were not madly in love with him?” Leowella felt the sudden pressure to make some joke or other.

“No,” Erchirion laughed, “I suppose it was a rather silly sort of affection based on appearances, though he does have a lovely sense of humor.”

“May I ask…? I heard a rumor that your aunt does not like men at all.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that she has lived in happy domesticity with her companion for over thirty years,” Erchirion smiled, “I know that our country, our nobility is thought of in some impossible ways, as if we are all perfect and cold as marble, but we are people the same as any other.”

“I am learning so,” Leowella admitted, looking at her friend with renewed interest, “I should wonder why so many of you act as if you are so far removed from humanity and your own natures.”

“Appearances matter the most of all,” Erchirion said, twirling his vile flute between his fingers as they walked again, “No one, in truth, gives much thought or care to what anyone does, as long as one is able to walk about in the public eye without fault.”

“I should think that the gossips believe otherwise.”

He scoffed, “That is a pastime and for amusement. Rarely does any true harm come to anyone from such idle prattling.”

After a moment of thought, Leowella decided to ask another question. Erchirion, for all of his attempts to play the drunken fool, seemed to be keenly aware of most of the freshest gossip about the court, “Do you know anything about Lord Peldirion.”

The sudden look of pure loathing that crossed Erchirion’s normally jovial face almost frightened her, “You would do well to stay clear of that one.”

“I know,” she held a hand up, daintily, and swatted away his concern, “I only meant… I heard that a lady of this court beat him for attacking her?”

That look twisted a bit, still full of hate, but there was something not unlike regret mixed into it, “There are things that should not be discussed for amusement.”

“Who was it?” Leowella said, knowing full well that her friend would have the answer to it.

“I have no idea, and who could even say if such a thing was true, or if there was only one lady with such an honor to her name.”

In a quick movement, Leowella snatched the pipe from Erchirion’s hand and bolted over to one of the fountains in the wide spaces of the garden. She leapt up onto the ledge of the fountain and held the reed flute out over the water, a threat clear on her face.

For a moment, Erchirion considered telling her that the flute in her hand was a toy, and that it cost less than a peasant’s stockings, but she seemed to have thought herself rather clever, and so, a moment too late, he effected an air of concern, “No! Please!”

“Tell me!” she tilted her chin up, victory burning in her eyes.

Erchirion hung his head, “It was my sister,” he said in a low voice.

Her hand fell back by her side, heavy as a stone, “What?”

“When Lothiriel was first presented, I suppose that git told her that he was in love with her… and well… she put a hair pin through his hand…”

Leowella jumped back onto the walking path, thinking over the words, “Does anyone else know?”

Erchirion’s shoulders bobbed, “In truth, I think… She is not the only lady that has attacked him, or any other such man.”

“Is there some secret sisterhood of assassins?” Leowella pleaded, “tell me there is one!”

“Not that I have heard. Though I think that The Widow might make quick work of every leach in this court, if she is real.”

“Do you not believe in ghosts?”

“I do, in a way. I do not know how to express it. Every elder I have asked have sworn that the tale has always been whispered, but I do not recall ever hearing of it until after the war.”

Leowella shrugged, “you should mind your elders, and if they say that this is a ghost, there likely is one.”

Erchirion smiled, nodding, “I suppose you speak truly, my lady.” He glanced at her carefully, noting the way that the starlight caught in her golden hair, and tore his eyes quickly away, “Well, if I am permitted to be your friend, then I will be, and I shall endeavor to help you in any way that I am able to.”

“Thank you,” Leowella smiled at him, “Lady Eowyn is of the opinion that I should marry.”

“If you wanted to,” Erchirion said, “There are folktales about the ills that come with forcing a person to marry against their will. But if there was anyone that had caught your attention, I could do my part to help.”

“How would you do that?”

“Encouragement?” Erchirion said, “I could speak well of you to anyone that had caught your eye.”

He was such a dear man, and Leowella wondered how it was that he was so willing to help her in this way, if there was any cause to help. How had he not been snatched up by some lady or other? There was a kindness in him that could be so easily abused, and perhaps it had been before.

If she was a better person, if she had not made such a mess of her life, if she could ever be worthy of such a decent man, she would have married him, and protected him from every ill-meaning wretch that might take advantage of his good nature.

But she was not worthy of such a man. She would take his friendship as a blessing, and do no more than that, not matter how much the thought of accepting his offered courtship made her feel warm in a way that she had decided never to feel again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for a lot of fluff, a bit of exposition, and perhaps a dash of smut.
> 
> Thanks for your patience while I've been writing at a far slower pace than I was for a bit there. I'd like to think that I'm writing better, but time will tell!
> 
> I've been doing a bit more redesigning of some characters and landmarks as I try to work more from the books. As I'm working through these designs I'll be posting them at forth-eorlinga.tumblr.com. I've done an illustration of what I've imagined Meduseld as looking like (yes it's bigger than the films), and I will be peppering more details of that through this story as well.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated (I need that sweet sweet reader approval.)
> 
> Enjoy!

Though she had studied the ledgers of the Aldburg holding, Lothiriel had not laid eyes on the house until that late spring day when they rode through the fields into the city. When she had first ridden to her adopted home, she was certain that they had ridden through the Folde, and she had been rather confused at the fact that the House at Aldburg had not been a stop along the way, as she had heard that the house was a fine one and had assumed that it would certainly have been more comfortable than the camps that they made through the country on their way to Edoras.

The city of Aldburg, and the surrounding land seemed prosperous, all things considered, and they seemed to have been given warning that the King and Queen were coming for a visit, as it seemed that every soul in the holding had come out to see them, waving and calling out blessings as they rode through.

Though she could see the similarities to the way that Edoras had been built, Aldburg seemed to have been built much more gradually, and with more obvious rebuilding of structures rather than maintenance to the houses as they stood, save the wall surrounding the city. It was likely a small and inconsequential thing for her to have taken note of, but she wondered if it was due to the fact that while Aldburg had once been the capitol of the Riddermark, it was no longer so. There had been additions put on to some of the larger houses and she could tell where those additions had been made, though only after having studied the buildings in question for a few moments.

Her house, for by legal rights it was hers, had clearly had such additions made, but in a careful way, making it more difficult for her to recognize what had been part of the original structure and what had been added on in time. It was a little smaller than Meduseld but seemed as though the interior had been refitted at some time to be less of a meeting hall, and more of a manor house. There was still a Great Hall, where the Earl of Aldburg could host banquets and guests, but the house itself felt less like a public space than the one than she currently lived in. There was no separate floor where the lord and family lived, rather each room seemed to serve the purpose of private living.

The additions and changes to the structure had been made slowly and carefully over the last five hundred years, Halfred, the House Steward explained as they toured the house. She had met the Land Steward, Guthere as well on the first day that they had arrived, and she had been eager to meet the both of them in person. To that point she had only ever communicated with them by letters, and Lothiriel had found them to both be rather close to her expectations of them. They were both craggy faced men of middling age, well dressed, but not too finely so, and dedicated to their positions.

Halfred explained that the house had originally been more or less a Mead Hall with rooms overlooking the space in a loft, and that as time had passed, the masters of the place had expanded and rebuilt along the general shape of the structure so that it eventually stood in its current glory. Aldburg had only been the seat of kings during the life of Eorl the Young, as his son Brego apparently had been of the opinion that Edoras was a better holding for that honor and had begun the construction of Edoras and of the Great Hall of Meduseld. The Hall by and large had remained unchanged since that time, while the city itself had expanded.

The older man seemed to know the entire history of the house which, Lothiriel considered, he certainly should have, and he did seem keen to share every detail of it that he possessed as Eomer made some excuse or other, and thus extricated himself from the history lesson with a knowing look back at Lothiriel as he went to see to the unpacking of their things, or so he said.

At long last she was able to retire, and if she had not been so weary from the road, she would have been far more inclined to ask questions and to expand her knowledge, but she at least contented herself that there was time enough during their visit to make such inquiries as she wanted.

Eomer had made quite a point before they had left Edoras that he considered this visit to be their honeymoon, as there had not been any ability to have such a thing after their wedding. He had explained that he had wanted to bring her here, away from the court, but had thought that it might be an overwhelming experience to leave her new home, where she knew almost no one, to go to another house in a city that she had never been to, and also knew no one, save the stranger that she had married. Therefore, he had explained, he had considered it better to forestall any such trip until they were better known to each other, and until Lothiriel had settled herself as Queen.

It was almost amusing to watch him offer explanations for his oversights, especially if it was something that he felt had been a failure in some way or other, for in those cases he would take to speaking far more than was needed, and in an almost frantic way.

Heohild helped her undress to bathe, knowing that a hot soak would sort the aches and soreness from the long ride, though it was the sort of ache that you did not realize had built through the day. Lothiriel had so enjoyed the ride and the freedom of it, racing at times and at others moving slowly and laughing with Eomer.

As Heohild left her, Eomer reappeared from wherever it was that he had gone to hide from being involved in the tour. He gave her a weary sort of smile, looking over her dressing gown as she stooped to test the water’s temperature.

“How do you like your house, dearest?” he asked, eying her in a particular sort of way as she disrobed and climbed into the steaming water.

“It is lovely,” she sighed as she sank, resting her head against the back of the tub, her eyes closed for a moment, savoring the quiet moment of easy relaxation. When she looked back at him, she found that he had made his way over to the tub, the request clear on his face. “It would seem rather a waste if I forced the servants to bring fresh water for you,” she said, teasing him as she moved a leg languidly through the water.

It seemed that such a concern for the labor of others was all the assurance that was required of her, as Eomer quickly stripped himself of his clothes and took the ties from his braids before all but leapt into the tub, wincing a little as he went, having not had the forethought that his wife preferred her bath to be quite capable of scalding a person. Her giggles did soothe his discomfort quite quickly, and the added sensation of running his fingertips over her knee.

She kicked her foot gently up and splashed some of the water at him, and she was in a small way prepared for the reaction that she would be given for it, as Eomer’s hand caught about her knee and he lurched forward against her, his smile a bit animalistic as he snatched her, growling playfully. She was pinned, a little uncomfortably against the side of the tub as Eomer’s hands took hold of her wrists, his face hovering over hers. That smile softened and he rubbed the end of his nose against hers in slow, gentle movements. Leaning up, she kissed him as her wrists tried to wiggle free. One of his hands released her and he held her by the back of her head, deepening the kiss before she pulled away.

With a contented sigh, Eomer moved, shifted carefully and rested back against her, his head resting against her chest. She slowly wrapped her arms around him, relaxing in the hot water, and the weight of her husband against her. Combing her fingers through his hair, she began humming gently.

He washed her hair, smiling as he pulled the thick wooden stick free and tossed it aside, chuckling over Lothiriel’s complaints that he never showed her possessions any respect. In response he gently splashed a cupped hand full of water at her face. She dunked her head under the water and came back up to let him get to work on her hair, making quite a point that of telling him that his arms would be tired long before he finished washing and oiling her hair. He knew that there might be some truth to it, but he was not of a mind to be cowed. Her hair seemed far easier to manage when it was wet. It hung, for the most part, straight down her back and shone a bit as he massaged the soap into her scalp and down her hair. Lothiriel leaned into his hands, a smile stretching across her lips as he worked.

It was a sort of bliss that would in the grand scheme of things go completely unremarked, but in the moment, Lothiriel found herself wanting to share more baths with him. Perhaps it was that this intimacy, one that she had considered quite a few times now, was not based so on the physical attraction between them. They could wash each other and need little more than that to enjoy each other’s company.

“What is it we are to do tomorrow?” Eomer asked as Lothiriel scrubbed at his back and shoulders.

“I believe we are to go about in the farms, and to the markets the day after,” she murmured, her thoughts of chaste affection fading a little as she watched the suds slide over Eomer’s muscles, “then we should find some way to walk about the town every day so that we can be seen, and so that we can meet with the people in an open way.”

He let out a low grunt, and she wondered if he was concerned over meeting too many people at once.

“I have been told that I might dress more simply here,” Lothiriel went on, keeping a smile in her voice, “perhaps I will have a difficult time of putting on the finery that would be required when we travel south.”

Eomer’s hand ran over her knee again, a gentle touch, “As a husband I should think to have you dress as simply as possible.”

“And I am certain you want me to ask how far we should go into that simplicity so that you might make some illusion to nudity?”

“I would never say such a thing,” he smirked, the benefit of facing away from her clear to him now, as she could not see the lie of it.

“Hedgehog,” she said with a smile.

“Hm?”

“That is what I shall call you, for all your prickles, you are soft underneath.”

He chuckled, “Be it as you will, so long as you never tell a soul.”

“Oh, I shall!”

“No. I have a reputation to uphold, and I will not have anyone thinking that you have made me soft,” he peered over his shoulder at her, and almost winked.

Lothiriel moved carefully and leaning over his shoulder. “You are the fiercest of all men, living or dead,” she said before kissing his cheek.

“And do not forget it,” he pinched her thigh.

0x0x0

Erchirion collapsed onto the chaise with all of the dramatics that he could draw upon in this moment.

“What is it now?” Amrothos had always one for gentle sympathy, and concern for the delicate emotions around him, as was apparent by the irritated look on his face and the gruff tone in his voice.

“Nothing,” Erchirion said before he covered his face with a small cushion and screamed into it.

Amrothos fought the immediate urge to laugh at his brother, having an inkling of what this was about, but had decided long ago that it was more amusing to watch than to ask again what was troubling his brother. He also knew that the best way to get him to speak was to turn back to whatever it was that one was doing. As it always had in the past, it did the trick, as Amrothos was interrupted from his letters again by the cushion being hurled onto the floor.

“What is wrong with me?!” Erchirion wailed.

“Do you want a medical diagnosis?” Amrothos asked, “I could offer such ideas, but bear in mind that I am not trained in such things as to be able to truly be certain of it.”

“I have gone and pledged myself to a charge that will only end in my misery!”

“Are you going to visit with Auntie?”

“Why would that end in misery?” Erchirion asked, confused.

“It would be lovely for the first few days, but then she will start in on why you are not wed,” Amrothos said, “It has become her new hobby now that the youngest is married. I suppose it has entirely drawn her attention to our unwedded state.”

“Well then she will need to find some other occupation for her time, as I will only present an abject failure to any such ideas,” Erchirion collapsed back against the sofa, his arm thrown over his eyes, “I shall never wed, and live my life as a burden on my family.”

It was Amrothos’ experience that there was little in the world that would not mend the mood of someone in his family like a good taunting, “Well, it will at least be a station that you would be used to.”

“Indeed,” Erchirion sighed.

This was worse than he could have imagined, then, Amrothos realized and he got up from his desk to sit by his brother’s side, “I am certain it cannot be as terrible as all that. Whatever charge you have taken on you could certainly step back from it.”

“No,” Erchirion sat up, “I offered to help Lady Leowella make a match that she would find agreeable.”

Amrothos nodded gently, “I thought you might have taken a fancy to her… Though I fail to see what the trouble would be. I think that we have passed the point in our family where we might not be so terribly against the idea of a Rohirric marriage, though it might start some rumor that such affections are inherited. A point that would not at all be helped by the fact that you had rather…” he broke off before he began teasing his brother over his silly crush on their brother-in-law. He was trying to be helpful, but he knew full well that he was not doing so well at it as he would have liked. It was his curse that his foot always seemed to find its way into his mouth, “and it would certainly have the added benefit of you likely going to live with her where I need not be troubled by you.”

“I do not think that would ever come to pass,” Erchirion grumbled to himself.

“Whyever not?”

Having only then realized that he was speaking aloud at all, Erchirion sighed, “She does not wish to have me as anything more than a friend.”

“Bad luck,” Amrothos said, a sympathetic tone in his voice. He knew his brother well enough to know that having taken this rejection with decency and in trying to do right by the young lady in his esteem, like the good-natured idiot that he was, Erchirion was indeed only tormenting himself. He studied Erchirion’s dejected air, “Do you… do you want a hug?”

That at least seemed to break Erchirion out of his grim demeanor, “Oh shut it!”

“I am serious,” Amrothos said, deadpanned and serious, his arms held awkwardly out, “Is this how one… does a hug?”

Stooping, Erchirion picked the cushion up from the floor and swung it at his brother’s head, “You are an absolute bastard!”

“Indeed, so why did you come to me for council?”

“If I had gone to Elphir he would have dragged me to a brothel.”

“There are worse fates,” Amrothos muttered, sitting back, a new way to brighten Erchirion’s mood coming to him at once, “It might not be my place to say… and I know that he has always gone about in this way when Gadrien is with child, but this time, does he seem more…”

“Set on wrecking his marriage?” Erchirion nodded, eager as ever to gossip, “I think he is simply glad to have survived the war, but someone should have a word with him.”

“It will not be me,” Amrothos said, pointedly getting up and turning back to his letters, “He will not take a word off me without a temper.”

“Do you think I would do any better at it?” Erchirion asked with a shudder, “We need a married man to make the point, as he will simply tell us that we have no concept of our interference… Faramir?”

“I doubt he wants the trouble of it,” Amrothos said, “though if the looks that he has been giving Elphir is any indicator, he is not entirely pleased about it, either.”

Erchirion rested his head against the back of the chaise, trying to work out some way that they might be able to point out to their brother how much his behavior upset his wife, as Gadrien, being a “well brought-up” lady, would never say a word about it. They could see it though, in a way that no one else would notice.

“I am certain we will find a way,” Amrothos said, hinting as heavily as he could that he wanted to be left alone now. He needed to find an acceptable reply to Lothiriel’s latest letter.

Lothiriel seemed to be flourishing, a thing that he seemed more certain of than anyone else in the family was. Lady Eowyn’s assurances had done some good toward calming their father’s nerves on that matter, but Amrothos doubted that he would not be certain that his arrangements had not damned Lothiriel to a miserable fate. Imrahil had been so certain that Eomer King would make a good husband to Lothiriel until the moment that they had left Edoras, and since that time had refused to stop fretting, and wondering if he should have simply let them court.

It was an argument without purpose, for the marriage had already been made, and their father’s reasons, overly concerned with honor as they might have been, had not been malicious.

He wondered what Eomer King thought of the lot of them, as Lothiriel would, had she decided to share her opinions and history, might not have given the best of impressions of them all. It was a concern that he knew he would only to see resolved in the same way that his father’s concern would be.

There would be a time when they would see Eomer King, and if he read the signs right, it might be sooner than they thought.

0x0x0

They had gone out into a place outside of the city on a ride, meaning to have their midday meal away from the interested eyes of the villagers, or from the watch of their guards. Running off in this way had been perhaps too much of a habit, but they were close enough to the city that if there was any danger, they could make their way back, or else hear the alarm being raised. Finding a shady spot under a tree, they laid out a blanket and a basket, meaning to enjoy a few stolen moments, or a few hours if they were able to get away with it.

Eomer had been of a mind to teach her to defend herself, and he had been rather pleased that she knew a few simple, effective blocks, and other such tactics of evasion, and they had in a way that was likely less serious than it should have been, taken to sparring. It was not that Lothiriel was particularly skilled, but it was more than he had considered, especially when she picked up a small stick and seemed to be using it in place of a dagger.

“Is this the sort of thing that they teach you at that fine lady’s school?” Eomer teased, removing his tunic and stopping for a drink of ale. He pulled his shirt loose around his neck and noted that Lothiriel did not seem as warm as he.

“No, indeed,” she accepted the ale and took a long drink, which earned her another smile. She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her simple linen dress, “Boromir taught me.”

“What a great honor,” Eomer said, stopping to bring out the bread, meats and cheese that was to be their lunch.

“He looked after me, even when I was little,” she said with a smile, “if he was visiting, and I had a bad dream I would make myself quite annoying to him, waking him up at all hours.”

Eomer watched her, thinking of a few questions that he had, but on further consideration he decided against asking them. He did not want anything to spoil this trip. They had come for a break from the stresses of their life, as far as they were able to have such a thing. He wanted relaxation, and the sort of fond memories that he would be able to look back on when he was not with her. Laying back and eating contentedly, he cast her a hopeful look before tugging on the end of her braid, “Might you read to me?”

“Once I have eaten a bit more,” she replied, not yet having fallen so far in her graces that she would speak with her mouth full. “I should like to extend an offer to Waerhild, if it would not be seen as uncouth.”

“What offer would it be?” Eomer asked around a mouthful of bread.

“I should like to offer her some manner of compensation for the time that she spends with me. Perhaps I might offer her the official position as my companion?”

“If you like,” Eomer said, not certain why such a thing would be though poorly of, “but might I ask what brought this on?”

“I had not considered that I was taking so much of the time that she would need to spend on her duties in the household.” Even as she said it, Lothiriel was aware of how selfish and sheltered such a lack of understanding undoubtedly was.

The day before, as they had been visiting the market in the city square, one of those opportunities to be among the common folk and show generosity and interest in the area. A little girl had tugged on Eomer’s trousers and asked if he truly was the king and he had stooped and said that he was. Lothiriel was not entirely certain of what was said between the two of them, her husband and this child, but she had taken Eomer’s hand in hers and had led him to meet her mother and her baby sister in their house.

Lothiriel had always known that her life was an easy one, and that most people did not have servants to do and fetch things, but she had been greeted by a weary looking woman who was looking over a stew and spindling yarn with a whorl that she spun to make yarn.

“Yesterday, that mother,” she looked back at him, a little ashamed that she had not given much consideration to the amount of work that the lower-class women did, in spite of her arguments for setting up schools being based on that fact. Until that moment, she had only thought of such things in the abstract, “I worry that I have been detaining Waerhild from the things she has been meant to be doing.”

“I think that Waerhild is glad of a cause to be out of her house,” Eomer said, laying back again, “but I suppose as long as it will not deplete our treasury. How much does a companion cost?” he joked.

“I would pay her out of my own allowance,” Lothiriel insisted, cutting him short.

He scoffed, “Consider it a household expense and do not worry yourself over it so. I think that Waerhild and Eothain are comfortable enough in their life, but I do not doubt that a bit of money here and there might be a help.”

With a smile, Lothiriel watched him stretch and soak in the sun’s warmth. Having eaten enough, she dusted the crumbs of bread and salt from her fingers, and she took The Revenge of the Mariner from the basket. She crawled over to him and rested her head on his shoulder as she lay beside him and read to him about how the Young Mariner had worked in a tavern until at long last he heard tell of the Rake who had become a merciless Corsair who did not even pay his men well.

After some time, he caught sight of a few apples high in the tree and climbed up to fetch one for them to share. Lothiriel watched from the blanket, and she called up warnings for him to be cautious, though he simply called back that he was fine and knew what he was about.

There was an exclamation overhead and Lothiriel got to her feet to catch the apple that he dropped into her hands. “I would not have thought you had much time for climbing,” she called as he made his descent, “In truth I did not think to find trees in the plains of the Riddermark.”

“My dear wife, when will you accept that before you came here that you knew nothing of the Mark?” he called down and laughed at the face she made at him. For a moment, Eomer hung from a lower branch, his hands holding tight to the bough as he swung a little. He dropped onto his feet, with a grin on his face, looking for a moment as if he had won some tournament or other, his hands through up in the air.

Having applauded his valor and skill, Lothiriel made some room for him side her. She took a knife from the basket and began to slice the apple but needed to move her arms a bit higher as Eomer rested his head on her lap.

He opened his mouth expectantly, and perhaps a little impatiently, as he thought that he should have taken a bite out of the apple before tossing them down to her. At least he had not needed to wait long as Lothiriel slid a sliver of apple between his lips and she giggled as he playfully nipped at her fingers.

She ate a piece of fruit directly from the blade and smiled at the tart flavor.

“I think that this is the only place fit for my head to rest,” Eomer murmured with a smile, “it is far more comfortable than any pillow I have ever known.” There was no wanton desire in his voice, or any hint that he might have some second meaning to his words. He simply looked comfortable and content as he lay there, being fed bits of apples. The sunlight on his face and in his hair distracted for a moment her from the fruit in her hand. The smallest detail held her attention for a moment, the way the light caught at his eyelashes.

He squinted up at her, sensing that she had stilled, and for a moment had been concerned that something was amiss. Seeing her smiling at him, he relaxed again, and smiled back at her for a moment before sitting up. Taking the apple from her hands, he cut a thicker piece of apple and fit it in his mouth before offering it to her, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

With a roll of her eyes, and a smile that she could not hide, she leaned to bite off the other half of the apple, her lips brushing against his, as had so clearly been his intention.

“May I admit a thing?” Eomer asked, the knife in his hand working again, clearly thinking that Lothiriel had been too stingy in her cutting.

“You will do no matter what I say,” she teased, leaning back on her hands.

“It is hardly anything that would scandalize you by now,” he said, munching away, “I have no cause for why I should have thought of it now, but I had hoped to see you when Faramir and the rest of the Court came to Edoras for my lord uncle’s funeral. I would have thought you would know that Faramir was to marry Eowyn, and that you, being his cousin and as a sister to him that you would want to be present.”

Lothiriel’s face fell a little, before she could stop it, “I was in mourning still.”

Eomer started at that, “I had not considered…”

“It is alright, love,” she forced a smile, trying to save the moment, and not wanting to discuss the row that she had been in with Faramir over the then forthcoming nuptials.

It had been the vicious sort of fight that could only happen between close kin. In her stubbornness she had refused to budge on the fact that it was not proper for Faramir to wed so soon after the deaths of his father and brother, and moreover that it seemed impolite to go the funeral of an allied king and return with a wife. Faramir, for his part, had told her that if she meant to be such a miserable cow, and shame him for finding some bit of happiness, that it was all the better that she was to stay in Minas Tirith. They had made amends when Faramir had returned, though Lothiriel had still be rather sore over the whole matter. It had occurred even before that time that Faramir might have resented her for the easy way that she had fit into his father’s house, and for the way that Denethor had treated her.

“Perhaps I ought to have come,” Lothiriel teased him, “for I would have perhaps been able to have some idea of interest from you. Though, I might think that you would still have been as shy as you had been.”

There was a minor blush on his cheeks, “Perhaps so. I did fear saying the wrong thing and having you despise me, I liked you from the first we met, and was so concerned over your finding me dull… though it seems that rather it had the effect of you fearing me.

“I hardly remember our first meeting,” Lothiriel admitted, accepting more of the fruit, and fidgeting a little with it on its way to her mouth, “I do not imagine that I left a very regal impression at all.”

Eomer laughed, “You left an interesting impression.”

“Do tell me that I was not so terrible as I imagine!”

He looked out over the swaying grass for a moment, trying to think of how to express it without embarrassing her, “Do you know what the first thing you said to me was? Beyond the formalities and all?”

She shook her head, “I recall that Erchirion seemed to be dragging you over,” she accepted the last bit of apple and watched the core as he tossed it aside and wiped his hands on his trousers.

He nodded, remembering that he had just been on the point of telling Erchirion that a few of his advisors had hinted that it would be quite nice if he could find himself a wife, and that perhaps he would find one in Gondor of appropriate birth. More than that, Eomer had been explaining that he considered the whole matter was a lost cause and that he had not seen a lady in that court that he thought would agree to marry him if he were not a king. It was at the moment that he had heard Lothiriel laugh, a little too loudly, and for no reason that he could easily explain he had found himself staring at her and considering that the strange woman was rather beautiful when she laughed. Erchirion had looked at Eomer’s face, stifled a laugh, and with far more familiarity than any one in Gondor might have ever even thought of, did indeed drag Eomer over to meet his little sister. At a glance, Eomer had been well aware that the lady in question had been in the cups, but had been interested all the more, for the breach of controlled and decorous behavior.

“You looked me straight in my face,” Eomer began, “and having done all the greetings and whatnot, you asked me ‘Why the long face, Horse Lord?’”

“No!” Lothiriel screamed, pressing her hands over her mouth, “I made a horse joke?! And not even a good one?!”

“With all of the pride that might come with the most elevated of statements,” Eomer nodded, not entirely certain what she would consider a good horse joke, “It made me smile, though it might have simply been due to the delivery of such a joke, though you did break the stern affect rather quickly after the words left your lips.”

Lothiriel hid her face against his knees for a moment and then stared at him, “and you wanted to marry me after that!?”

After a moment of consideration, Eomer nodded again, “I did, indeed.”

She smacked at him, “Would that you had never told me such a thing as that! Were there any other witnesses to such an absurd thing?”

“There were, but no one would say a word about it, as it did garner you a smile from the most grim-faced git that had ever been in their presence,” Eomer chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him. “Be not ashamed, dear heart,” he kissed the top of her head, “I think my response was as preposterous. I believe I said that I only had the one face, and that I could not think of any way to change it.”

She pressed a hand to her head, “What a match we make.”

“I’d have no other,” he kissed her brow, and looked at her, the small smile that he only gave her in place on his lips for a moment before dragging her to her feet and twirling her about.

“What are you doing?” she giggled.

“Doing all that I can think of to turn your mind from perceived embarrassment,” Eomer said, “or would my lady not dance with me?”

“You are a fool,” she said, still giggling as she followed him through improvised steps.

“I am your fool, and that must count for something,” he replied lifting her by the waist and spinning with her.

Having gotten herself free from the grasp of her husband and whatever else he might think to do to distract her, Lothiriel tore off across the high grasses. She pulled her skirts up in her hands so as to ensure that she would not trip over the hem as she ran. With a backward look to ensure that Eomer was not displeased, she let out another laugh, tinged with a scream as he had started to run after her.

At least he had the decency to not overtake her quickly, and to let her at least pretend that she would have stood a chance in outrunning him, but he did still come close a few times, even if he was snatching in those moments at the back of her skirts. At the last, he caught hold, and slid to the ground pulling her with him into the grass, the both of them laughing as they went down.

“I do hope that you have not torn my dress,” Lothiriel scolded breathlessly as Eomer crawled over to her.

“I do not think I have, but if you wish I am capable of doing so,” he grinned down at her, smoothing his fingers over her hair, brushing a few bits of grass away as he did.

Lothiriel’s eyes widened, “We are not going to do that!”

“Why should we not?” he asked, his heavy voice pouring over her like velvet.

“We are out of doors! What if someone sees us!” she scoffed even as his fingers stroked over the tops of her breasts. She did not want to admit, even to herself, that there was something about the idea that thrilled her. It was the sort of thing that she knew she should be completely affronted by. The very idea that she, a queen, would be had in such a way, and in such an open place seemed the sort of thing that would be a grave dishonor. Perhaps that was what made it so exciting.

“I will have them beheaded,” Eomer replied simply, his eyes trailing after his fingers, “and the secret that the King and Queen are wild deviants that couple in the open will die with any such person that might happen upon us.”

She pushed at his shoulder lightly, “Oh, hush now! We are not…” her voice dropped to a whisper, “deviants.” For a moment, she wondered if, in fact, they were.

He let out a humming sound and ran his hand gently over her thigh, knowing the look on her face, and the way that she was coloring and shifting under his hand, and he fought a smile, “I am pleased that you do not think so. May I have a kiss, at least?”

She knew it would not be only a kiss, and still she tugged him down to her by the front of his tunic. It was a slow and gentle kiss that lingered on for ages and made every hair on her body stand on end. Through that long kiss, his hands and hers had taken to wandering and her body pressed up against his, aching for his touch.

“I do think your mind is changed, my lady…” Eomer said, practically growling against her ear before he nipped at it.

With some care, Lothiriel peered over the top of the grass, scanning for the sight or hint of anyone, chewing on her lip as she did so.

Eomer watched her, resting on his elbow, his attempt at controlling his face was a lost battle and he beamed at her furtive head as she stared about them. Having done all that she could to ensure that they were in truth alone, Lothiriel sank back into his arms, and with a wicked grin, she kissed him again, pulling him down against her.

With a chuckle, Eomer pinned her against the ground under him, the grass folding about their bodies, making a bed for them. His fingers trailed over the ties at the front of her dress in a deliberately tantalizing way before undoing them and the kirtle beneath, unwrapping her breasts with a hungry smile.

Reaching between them, Lothiriel tugged the hem of his tunic out of the way, and she started at the laces that kept her from her prize. She could feel him shudder as her hand slipped into his trousers and took gentle hold of him.

“Not yet,” he whispered his lips trailing over her neck and down.

Her grip turned a little less gentle, and she gave his cock a slow, hard stroke, “No?”

“I have not finished teasing you, dear,” he murmured, gingerly extracting her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. He pushed her skirts up and ran his hand over her thigh, and felt them part as she pressed up eagerly, “By your leave?”

“You have it,” she whispered back with some hesitance, not certain how much time they would in truth have for whatever it was that he was thinking of doing.

It was slow and almost maddeningly so as he carefully worked his thumb over the pearl of her sex and pressed kisses to her exposed breasts, and then gentle nips and bites. This specific sort gentle touch was almost forgotten to her now, as he seemed constantly of a mind to bring her off quickly and as many times as he could. That usual philosophy ran counter to what he was currently doing, stoking the fire to almost and inferno and then slowing, and repeating as he went. His hand was, she thought, purposefully moving her toward the threshold of bliss but not allowing her more than that.

She twisted her fingers into his hair as she felt her sex pulsing with want, any movement she might have made to rectify this situation was hindered by his weight between her legs.

He kissed her again, pecking at her lips, his unoccupied hand taking hold of her jaw and holding her still so that she could not follow him when his lips left hers.

She growled and pressed her hips up against him, tugging on his hair, and whining, “Eomer…”

The smile he gave her was devious, as he pulled her hand from his hand and pressed it by her shoulder, “Yes, my love?” For a moment, she tried to shove him on to his back, but he did not move, pressing more firmly against her, with an inquisitive look.

She bit her lip, trying to press herself against his hand, his thigh, anything that she might be able to clench her thighs about and ride until she had her release.

It occurred to her, suddenly in the midst of the overwhelming need, that she had never begged before, though he had. She had made requests or inferred what she wanted, and he had always eagerly obliged her. He had never turned this game on her. Understanding now, she pouted a little, and cupped at one of her breasts, running her fingers over the flesh. “Please?” she asked as she twisted one of her nipples between her forefinger and thumb, wondering if he would snatch her hand away.

His dark eyes followed her hand as she toyed with her own flesh, and he licked his lips before dragging his gaze back to her face.

“Please, my love,” she bit her lip again, “take me. I need you.”

As if some spell, or else his will, was broken, the tempo and positioning that his fingers had kept changed, quickening and becoming focused in a different way. In moments, she was a writhing mess, clinging to him and biting against his shoulder, feeling the linen of his shirt and tasting sweat as she tried to muffle the keening that poured from her as all of the pleasure that had been withheld crashed down against her, and then she was completely silent as he went on pleasing her without pause.

As his wife, the sole object of his affections wrapped herself as tightly around him as she could, so stiffly that for a moment he worried that he had pushed her too far, he drew back a bit to look at her face.

Looking back at him with a grin that slowly widened, Lothiriel let out a breathy chuckle. “I am yours,” she whispered, her small chest still heaving as she pressed a hand over her racing heart, “and only yours.”

With more gentleness than he had used to torment her, he cupped one of her knees, searching her face for any protest that she needed time to recover. He always looked for it though he had not yet found such a look in her.

A little clumsily she moved under him as they both blindly sought the right positioning to join together, chuckling at misses, and Eomer pressed his brow to hers, trying to calm himself a little.

“Hush now,” he whispered, with a smirk.

Lothiriel leaned up and kissed him, moving just so and it was managed. He held for a moment, listening to the contented sigh as she accepted him, and drew him nearer for a moment before looking to him for approval. She was so eager to please, his sweet lady wife.

He ground against her a little roughly, his fingers tightening their hold on her knee for a moment before his hands tangled into her loose braid. “Wrap your legs about me,” he murmured against her ear and rewarded her with a kiss when she did, his grip in her hair holding her firmly under his lips. He licked at her lips and they parted for him, the kiss deepening.

When he pulled back for air, he watched her face contort beautifully, furrowing as he pushed her near the brink again. He slowed and it had the desired effect of her eyes snapping open to stare at him as he brought one of her hands up to his face and glanced back at her for a moment before taking two of her fingers into his mouth.

It was a strange sensation, but as he moved within her there was something overwhelming about it. She wondered how she had been married this long and was still learning such things. Her head fell back against the grass, her eyes closing against it all.

He pressed one of her legs flat and pulled her fingers back out and guided her hand under her skirt, making some room between them. “I want you to touch yourself,” he whispered against her throat, and she could hear the grin as much as she could feel it.

She stifled a giggle as she followed his orders, gasping as his thrusts increased in their force.

“Are you my woman?” he grunted the question as he caught her face in his hand, making her look at him as the pressure built. He wanted to watch.

“Yes,” she whimpered feeling her back curl and arch against him as his hand squeezed at her hip.

“I am your man,” he went on, pressing into her harder, faster, knowing she was close.

“Yes,” she gasped out as everything, save the sensations of their bodies, faded away around her, and she tried to cover her mouth, but his hand caught her wrist.

“Let me hear you sing, love,” he growled, needing only a few moments more and then he could finish. It was worth the wait as she cried out, all semblance of concern over the open space and the risk of being seen forgotten as her sweet body clamped and tensed at him, pulling him deep against her, and drawing his last reserve of control away.

He lay against her for what felt like hours and was only roused by the gentle touch of her fingers pushing his hair back again. Peering at her, he beamed, even as his brow furrowed in concern.

She giggled and wrapped her arms about his neck, and shifted to kiss his cheek, nuzzling against his face.

“Did you like that, then?” he murmured, rolling away to let her mend her ties before she curled against him.

“I should say that it was reckless and foolhardy,” she sighed, as she slipped her arm over his chest.

“Then you enjoyed it that greatly?”

She pinched at his side, but giggled, “We might need to find some way to decide which of us will do the ordering about, as you are quite good at it.”

He hummed an agreement that was woven through with mirth as he traced his fingers over her shoulder, “Though, I should say that I give enough orders that it does my pride some good to have you tell me what to do.”

“But only in private.”

He looked for a moment as if he was seriously considering her words, “We shall start a new tradition whereby if a king should make some decree that is not right that the queen should then give him a public dressing down over it. It would serve as a good proof that joint rule is right.”

She scoffed and sat up, stretching her arms over her head as she slowly got to her feet. In the corner of her vision, she was aware of Eomer sitting up, though a bit more reluctantly.

“You look rather like something out of lore,” he said, and felt a bit foolish, “Like some mythical beauty found in nature.” Internally he winced, that sounded worse.

Without thought, Lothiriel spun about and began dancing, “Come back to the tree, Hedgehog!”

He grumbled a bit, but did so, watching her dance through the grass, a smile lighting his face as he trailed behind her. Once he had sat back on the blanket, having ensured that their horses were content with their meal of grass and fallen apples, he saw that she had stopped dancing.

“A maiden found in some wild place cannot possibly dance if no one is spying on her!” Lothiriel chided, impishly.

“How foolish of me,” Eomer laughed, “should I hide behind the tree, or will sitting on the blanket do?”

“I suppose poetic archetype may be ignored, and that I can accept you sitting, as I suspect you are rather worn out,” she lifted her skirts a bit higher than she ought to have and spun about again.

“I certainly am,” he called, leaning on his elbow, enjoying her movements. It was not the sort of dancing that he thought was learned, but that was rather just an expression of some joyous emotion. He watched her dress rippling in the air, and her braid swinging behind her as she moved, and knew in that moment that this was one of those memories that would be treasured for years, no matter what.

No one had caught them, and so Lothiriel’s concerns had been for naught. They both lived with that certainty, Lothiriel for the rest of her life, and Eomer until they passed the gate at Aldburg.

He found out later that and old man who had been a Warden at the gate for longer than Eomer had been alive, had been given a contraption called a spyglass. The Gate Warden’s nephew had bought it in Gondor and had thought that it would make the old man’s job easier, and by and large it had. Most of the King’s Guard had gotten used to the escapes of The King and The Queen, and they had been contented at least that while they had ridden past the sight of man, that the spyglass could be used to ensure that they were alright.

The Gate Warden, with one of the King’s Guards had sat on the gate and the elder had checked their safety every ten minutes or so. All was well until the moment that the Gate Warden thought that Lothiriel Queen had been harmed in some way and that Eomer King was distressed over whatever the matter was, but in a moment, before he could say a word, it became clear what he was seeing. As the story went, the old man closed the spy glass and had refused to say anything, but the look on his face made it quite clear what he had seen.

Eothain told Eomer all of this with as much amusement as a human could possibly muster, and Eomer would spend the next three years unable to meet the old Gate Warden’s eye whenever a Royal Visit took place.

That embarrassment was still not enough to tarnish the memory, though, and there were times when he was far from home and miserable when he could at least think back on it, and try not to be quite so desolate.

Besides the incident of the spyglass, or rather the vague knowledge that an old man had seen something, what or how much Eomer never found out nor wanted to ask, the next few days proved that the stay in Aldburg had been necessary. When Eomer King and Lothiriel Queen left to return to Edoras, they both felt refreshed in a way that neither had considered needed until then.

If anyone asked what they had done in Aldburg, Lothiriel brought out her ledgers and showed reports of crop seeding and predictions based on what growth had come up already, and then would expound on the importance of the King and Queen being seen by the people, and that she felt blessed to have been given the opportunity to live in such a beautiful country. She did want to travel more and hoped one day to be able to say that she had seen every city and village in the Riddermark.


	8. Chapter 8

The announcement startled Lothiriel more than a little when it came.

There were few reasons that she could think of for why a rider from Gondor was coming unannounced toward the city. With a note of the look passing between Eomer and Lothiriel, the council fell silent and adjourned as the royal couple took careful leave of the chamber, waiting for the warden to tell them what was happening.

As soon as Lothiriel was certain that no one had a direct line of sight to her, she went running up the narrow steps into the Royal apartment and through to their bedroom, leaving the door open behind her. Eomer bit back a chuckle as he watched her harried way, and made his way up the stairs, wondering if when he was of an elderly age if he would have the study converted to a bedroom, as his uncle had done, to avoid the stairs. When he found Lothiriel again, she was digging through trunks in the dressing room, apparently having thought that there was not time to fetch her maid, looking for an over robe and a good veil.

“Dearest,” Eomer said, “It is only a rider, I think. You needn’t put yourself to such troubles as this.”

“I will not have some messenger going back south and spreading word about that the Queen of the Mark looks little better than a farmer’s wife!” she called, slipping a rich green over robe on as quickly as she could, her hands tugging at the embroidered hems of the fabric so that it lay prettily over her pale green day dress and looking for a girdle belt to throw about her hips.

“Well, I think you look quite fine,” Eomer said, watching her take the thin circlet from her brow.

“You are biased beyond all good sense,” she shot back, giving Heohild a smile as she came tearing into the Royal Bedchamber.

The maid faltered suddenly, realizing that she had not knocked or been given leave to enter the apartment or the chamber at all, but Lothiriel’s pleading smile did soothe the concern. “I came as soon as I heard, my lady,” Heohild said, taking up the charge of wrapping the girdle about Lothiriel as the queen’s hands busying themselves at her perfumes and lotions.

Eomer watched all of this with poorly hidden amusement, and both his wife and the handmaid made a pointed and concerted effort to ignore him and his complete lack of understanding. After a moment he decided that if Lothiriel was going to put on such affects of regality that he might do well to at least put on one of his cloaks or an ober robe, and to fetch their crowns from the dressing room.

The case ought to have been put in the treasure room, but he so rarely went into that room and found it quite a task to either fetch the box himself, or else sending some trusted person to do so, that he had decided to keep their crowns in a more easilly accessable place. It should be noted that Lothiriel in general did not agree with this placement of the symbols of their sovereignty, but she was not currently of a mind to say anything, and Eomer bit back a good measure of smugness on it.

With careful fingers, Eomer set her crown on her brow, adjusting its placement before turning his attentions to his own. She held her tongue, but he did make a quick adjustment to lapels of his robe before clasping his hand and hurrying back through the sitting room to the stairs.

He wanted to laugh at the sudden madness that had taken hold in his wife, even as he understood that they were receiving a visiting messenger, and perhaps a dignitary of some sort. What amused him most was that if felt as if this had been some prearranged plan and that time had gotten away from them for the haste in which they had dressed themselves. Perhaps they were too casual in their dress, at least as far as any visitor might see it. He decided in that moment that he would rather have the wild rush to prepare for such unexpected visits, than needing to dress in this way each and every day.

Having reached the bottom of the stairs, Lothiriel peered through one of the doors behind the Dais wall to see if the messenger had yet come into the hall, and having convinced herself that they had not, she dusted her hands over her skirts and gave Eomer another quick look, ensuring that he was presentable. Rather than mocking her nerves, or poking fun at her, he took her hand, kissed it, and then placed it int the crook of his arm, and walked out into the hall with all of the disinterest in this guest than he could ever have put forth.

He held Lothiriel’s hand in a dainty hold as she sat on her throne, and still held her hand as he took his own seat, waiting to see what news there was from Gondor. Caelon who had followed all of this with some amusement took his seat at the King and Queen’s feet.

For all of Eomer’s pretense of not caring about this rider and what news might come with them, Eomer was distinctly aware that such a thing would not come without cause. He hoped, silently prayed, that the Oath of Eorl would not be called up so soon as this. In the vague way of a man possessed by his own thoughts, he was aware of the rest of the court that had been socializing in the hall standing about and waiting to see what would come now.

Running his thumb absentmindedly over Lothiriel’s knuckle, he could feel a small tremor in her hand as the doors opened and the Warden Deorfara came forth, bowing low.

Lothiriel sat a little straighter, but she did not release Eomer’s hand or pull free of him.

“Lord Amrothos of Dol Amroth,” Deorfara’s voice echoed in the hall.

Eomer let out an immediate, sharp bark of a laugh, pressing his hand over his mouth as he tried to stop himself laughing. He managed to silence himself, but not to stop himself from shaking a little with his stifled laughter. For a moment, he thought to look at his wife, but knew better for there would be some fierce irritation in her face and he would not be able to stop himself from laughing all the more at it.

Amrothos approached the dais and bowed low, his hand pressed over his heart as he did, “Your Great Majesties, thank you for accepting me into your company.”

“Indeed,” Lothiriel said, in her loud, court voice, “Though I should wish that you had sent word of your coming, my dear brother, for had I known that I was making preparations for only you, I would have gone to trouble of preparing myself so well! Perhaps I should have come down in my riding clothes and been far more comfortable.”

The corner of Amrothos’ mouth quirked a bit at her jab, and at the laughter that her courtiers gave in response to it, “I would have written ahead, were I not here at the bidding of King Elessar, Your Grace.” There was just the smallest flash of a twisted face at her at her as he spoke, a sort of brotherly teasing as he reached into his satchel.

She smiled back at him, but there was a sadness behind her eyes, her hand squeezing at Eomer’s.

Amrothos took notice of that and as much as he had already felt that this news would not be taken well, he became all too aware of the fact that he had come to tell his sister that she would need to let King Elessar borrow her husband for an undetermined amount of time. He took a breath. His fingers wrapped around the thin shaft wrapped in silk and he withdrew it, unfolding the fabric to show the black fletched arrow, its point painted red.

“It has ever been our gracious King’s hope that Gondor will be able to be reunited and returned to its former glory,” Amrothos said in a loud and clear voice.

Lothiriel’s hand stiffened in Eomer’s, “How does he hope to achieve this?” In the bottom on her gaze, she noticed Caelon lifting his head, seeming to look between them all before sitting up and resting his head on Lothiriel’s knee with a plaintive look at Eomer, as if the sweet dog that she would have the ability to stop Eomer going.

“An excursion into Harad,” Amrothos said, “to reclaim the lands that they have so long held from us.”

Eomer grunted quietly, his head tilting a fraction, “and King Elessar wants our men and horses?”

“You have retaken the Oath of your forebearers, Your Majesty,” Amrothos said, careful and aware of the reddening of his brother-in-law’s face as Eomer glowered, “and having bound yourself by your own esteemed honor to that oath…”

Eomer looked at Lothiriel, his face clearly asking if he was truly honor bound to listen to the horseshit that Amrothos was spewing, and the look that she returned him was only slightly more decorous. The very edges of her gaze were worn down with resignation. No matter what either of them said, or thought, he would have to go, or risk the alliance.

The wheels in Lothiriel’s mind were turning, trying to find a solution to their separation, he could see it in her eyes. There was a small twitch in the way that she held her head, and another in her brow, and he nodded.

“It is my own inclination to observe such pledges as I have made, but I do ask for my right to discuss this matter with my council,” Eomer stood, holding his hand to Lothiriel, as she rose to her feet.

“Might I speak with my brother,” she asked, giving him the wide eyes, almost teasingly.

“Absolutely not,” Eomer scoffed, “He is likely a poor influence.” He kissed her knuckle, “go on, darling.” He squeezed her hand and looked over her face in that slow way before giving her a wink.

With a roll of her eyes, Lothiriel pulled free of him, rolling her hips just a little as she went from him, aware of his lingering eyes, “Mistress Gredda, would you have some coffee brought up?”

The older woman smiled, “Of course, Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” Lothiriel said, twining her arm with her brother, “Now, Amro, I want all the gossip.”

“You seem to be doing well,” Amrothos said, distinctly aware of the way that Lothiriel had thanked a servant, and he wondering what other changes had come over his sister’s personality.

“I have,” Lothiriel led him through one of the doors by the dais, and past the guard that kept the court in the hall. “Though I have had quite a lot of help. Mistress Gredda,” she tilted her head back to signify the elder servant, “has helped me quite a bit. She manages everything so smoothly.

Amrothos looked about the space behind the dais, “Is this your rooms?”

“No,” Lothiriel laughed, “I think it was the Royal Apartments at one time, before the additions. Come along, I will show you!” she tugged him along up a narrow set of stairs that were hidden behind a door.

“These stairs seem dangerous for children,” Amrothos chided.

“Then I suppose it is a blessing that I have none yet,” she muttered, “Has father been irritating you all as much as he has me?”

“Well,” he watched her open another door and go through into an open space, feeling a little awkward about the dog at his heels, before Caelon decided to follow Eomer to the council chamber instead, “I think he is concerned that you are happy.”

“I am certain that you are going to be able to reassure him,” she said, “now, this is the sitting room!”

“There’s more room up here than I would have thought!” Amrothos looked about the wide space and the natural light that seemed to fill the room. There was a hearth and furs lain out in front of it. There was a tapestry that looked expensive of the two trees of lore, and only animals as the figures. He knew at a glance where there were touches that Lothiriel had put in, that tapestry being one of them, the collection of antique earthenware on a sideboard, and a chaise that was unmistakably Gondorian with a long piece of blue and yellow silk draped over the back of it. The cushions strewn about on the floor were vaguely familiar and he wondered if they had come from the citadel, from the rooms that had used to be Lothiriel’s.

“I think that the rooms around were a loft originally,” Lothiriel said, gesturing to the doors about the sitting room, “and I think that this room was added in later. The rafters were put in to support this, and to add to the overall look of the hall.” She kept walking through the sitting room, opening doors to rooms that had been used by and large for storage but that could be used as bedrooms. She was aware of the look on Amrothos’ face as she showed him where far too many dresses had been stored, and the nursery that was being used by their dog. With a moment of thought, she opened the last door, “This is our bedroom…”

There were more touches of Lothiriel, down to how tidy the room was, save the small and intentional points of what might seem to be carelessness, a colorful scarf over the back of a chair, a few books left strategically on a table by some dried roses. He might not have known his sister as well as he should have, but he knew her well enough to know that she was purposeful in almost everything that she did, even in leaving her things about. He could admit that the room felt lived in, homey in a way that felt familiar and yet so different from their own home, his own home.

Amrothos looked around the space with some interest, through the entire tour, he had been wondering where it was that his sister slept. The thought of her locked in the dungeons had entered his mind, “The view is nice. But I beg your pardon, did you say… ‘our’?”

Lothiriel clucked at him, “Do not pretend to be so shocked. I am a married woman, after all.”

“I should think that with all of these rooms that your husband would have the decency to give you your own room,” Amrothos sniffed, giving a sideways look to the large bed.

“Oh, hush,” she trailed out of the room, “I have a house for my own use.”

“Then you live there?” That at least was not so foreign a concept to him. There were distinct chambers of this sort set aside for the women of noble families in Gondor, and it seemed all the more proper therefore that his sister being a Queen should have her own house. Though the logistics of arrangements eluded him, he did not want to give any consideration to his sister’s marital relations.

“No, it is more for socializing, weaving and the like,” Lothiriel smiled, taking her seat at the breakfast table and smoothing her skirts out.

“That does remind me,” Amrothos sat at the small table as Lothiriel did, “I was advised, in a rather peculiar conversation with Lady Eowyn, that I ought to find accommodation elsewhere, lest I wanted to be kept up through the night by wailing and the like. Is Meduseld haunted?” There was a boyish glee in his face at the very idea.

Lothiriel pressed a hand over her mouth, smothering a laugh before it could come out, “Not that I have seen. We will have a guest house made available for you. How long are you to stay?”

“I must leave in the morning,” Amrothos said, “long enough to rest and little more than that. I am a courier in King Elessar’s service,” he gestured to his livery with a smile.

“Do you like it?”

“It is a fair charge for a third son, and a way to serve the kingdom,” he looked up as the door opened and a serving girl brought in the coffee service. He dropped his eyes and looked at his hands.

“Thank you, Maetgyth. Could you see if a guest house could be made available for the night?” Lothiriel asked.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Maetgyth said, curtsying.

Lothiriel smiled and went about making up their coffee as the slim blonde left.

“You know, I can see the appeal of the Rohir…” Amrothos smiled.

“Keep your hands off my serving girls,” she replied with a singsong tone to her voice.

“Fine, fine,” he scoffed, teasingly, before he went on, “Do not think I did not notice Eomer King looking to you for how to respond to this news.”

She smirked and handed him his cup with a dainty hold on the saucer, all perfect mannerisms.

“Then you have tamed one of the wild men of Rohan,” Amrothos jibed at her, “what miracle have you done?”

“I do not know what you mean,” she simpered, taking a small basket from next to the table and took some twist of fabric from it.

His disbelief was clear on his face, “Upon further thought, do not tell me, so!”

Lothiriel laughed, “There is not miracle in it, Eomer is a good husband. We get on well, better than I would have thought.” She spread the fabric out on her lap and began working the needles as she settled back, “I suppose I may admit to you that we rather love each other.”

“Father will be pleased to hear. He has been frantic for any news, to hear if you have been as happy as Lady Eowyn said.”

Her brow furrowed even as she smiled, “My marriage has been successful, so he needn’t worry that his plans were not well made.”

“That is not the reason for his concern, sister, at least not entirely,” Amrothos tilted his head, watching Lothiriel sip the coffee from the saucer, “He was concerned for you.”

“Oh, certainly,” she replied, bitingly.

“Loth… he worries about you, and I know that things have never been… right… but father has always regretted that, and has wanted to... make things right, but has never been able to do so.”

She studied his face, looking for any sign that he was making some joke, but he saw none. She did not want to start a row with him, especially if he was only staying so briefly as that. Even knowing that her attempts at presenting as well as possible were squandered on her idiot brother, she did want to have a nice talk, and to perhaps have him return for other visits, or tell Erchirion and Elphir that they might do, “Has Queen Arwen given birth?”

“Not yet, but soon,” Amrothos said, “I think Elessar wants to wait until after the birth to start the invasion.”

“How kind of him. I am certain Queen Arwen will be pleased,” Lothiriel snipped, “It must be nice to have some chance of an heir before being separated from his wife.”

“Your caustic opinions are noted,” Amrothos smirked, “Faramir will stay as regent while we are all in Harad, so at least Eowyn will not be parted from him in her delicate condition.” His curiosity finally won out, “What is that, anyway?” Amrothos asked, eyeing the linen thing that was stretched out on Lothiriel’s lap.

“It is a blanket for Eowyn’s babe,” Lothiriel held it up to proudly show him.

“And you are… making it? Could you not simply have someone else do so, and do some embroidery or something of that sort?” he saw her face crumple, and knew that his joke was not well made, and being himself decided to try to force it, “I mean, is it common for a queen to spin as well?”

She gave him a withering look, “I will have you know that it is a tradition here!”

“That highborn children are swaddled in homespun?” The sound that left Amrothos’ throat was so laden with disdain that Lothiriel wanted to hurl herself at him, “You have taken too kindly to the barbarians! Just wait until father hears of it!”

“Ah, yes, we enjoy genuine affection, and therefore must be savages!” she retorted.

0x0x0

The pretenses of council were what Eomer needed to collect his thoughts, and to take the blessing of a family visit, no matter the cause as it would likely not do to shout at Amrothos about the fact that this war did not seem to be a matter that should require the Mark to involve themselves. He considered, in the stead of his indignation, the benefits of Lothiriel being able to see her brother, and to speak about their family. Perhaps it would prove a thing that he hoped was true, that nothing was so terrible as she remembered.

The sight of the two siblings squirming on the floor in the Sitting Room, Amrothos’ arm twisted behind his back, and Lothiriel’s knee in the middle of his back, shattered the illusion that Eomer had been living with for the last hour. He had imagined that he would find his wife having some light conversation with her brother over coffee, but this did seem more like a few conversations that he had shared with his own sister.

Caelon, having seen this, let out a bark, and then sniffed at Amrothos’ face before licking it, clearly thinking that he was helping.

Eomer watched, thinking that he could almost pick out a few words in the Gondorian dialect, though he understood sibling bickering well enough to know that Amrothos had put his foot in it.

“Are you defending the honor of the Riddermark?” Eomer asked, amusement heavy in his voice.

“Indeed, she is,” Amrothos said, or did his best to, his face squished against the carpet, one that he was certain Lothiriel had brought with her, “will you call her and this beast off?”

Eomer chuckled, helping himself to the coffee before whistling to Caelon and pointing over to the hearth for the hound to go lie down.

“Oh, for Ulmo’s sake, will you control your wife!” Amrothos snapped, and then winced as Lothiriel smacked the back of his head and twisted his arm more tightly.

With a smirk, Eomer settled into a chair, “I think that you know full well who has the control in this marriage.”

Amrothos grumbled as Lothiriel let out a taunting laugh and released his arm.

“An excellent use of joint locks,” Eomer smiled as Lothiriel settled onto his knee, his arm slipping around her waist.

“You are both mad,” Amrothos sat up, rubbing his shoulder, and looking at this show of familiarity with as much horror as he would have shown if they had started coupling on the table in front of him, “Do you comport yourself in this matter publicly?”

“No,” Eomer replied, pouring some coffee into her cup.

“Well…”

“That was Géola, and thus hardly counts.”

Staring between the two of them, Amrothos tried to find some way that he would be able to tell his father that Lothiriel’s marriage was going well without expounding on the complete lack of propriety that seemed rather acceptable.

“See if I tell you any bit of family gossip now,” he grumbled sitting down again, and trying to keep the contents of his stomach down as he watched Eomer nuzzle Lothiriel’s cheek.

“Oh, no,” Eomer replied in his usual deadpan way, the grim countenance was broken by the pinch Lothiriel gave his arm.

“Well, your nephew and niece are wild demon children,” Amrothos said, “Alphros has taken to punching father in the knees, and Mithriel has discovered a love of climbing on every surface that she can.” He was blathering, but he needed to get his mind off of the affectionate way that Eomer was holding his sister.

Lothiriel smiled, and got up from Eomer’s lap, swatting at his hand and going to fetch another chair, aware of Eomer voicing approval of her niece’s desire to climb. When she had settled back in her seat, and picked up her crocheting, she smiled, “What is happening at court?”

Amrothos hesitated, “I had meant to speak to you before, but…” he looked at Eomer for a moment, “Elessar has been debating sending an ambassador, as you have one in Minas Tirith.”

Eomer nodded slowly, “I have no objections to such a thing.”

Wincing, Amrothos looked for the right thing to say, the right way to deliver the next piece of information.

“Who?” Lothiriel asked, knowing her brother at least well enough to know that if he was choosing his words carefully that the cold knot in her throat was not entirely unfounded.

“The matter has been by and large put to bed,” Amrothos went on, “and we are continuing to look at possible candidates. Faramir made it clear that-”

“Who?” Lothiriel asked again.

“Peldirion put himself forth as a candidate for the petition.”

“No,” she replied.

“I know,” Amrothos held a hand up, “He is not being considered anymore.”

Eomer watched the exchange with a dark look in his eyes, “Thiriel, is that…”

She turned her eyes back to her work and let out an irritable breath, her hook working a bit more violently.

“You know, my lord?” Amrothos should not have been shocked, he should have taken what he had seen between them and known that she would tell Eomer, but he was still startled that she had.

“I know enough,” Eomer replied, softening only minutely as Lothiriel took his hand, “I know that he should have been called out, and I know that Lothiriel put a pin through his hand, a thing which I consider the most minor of punishments.”

Amrothos was aware of the hatred that was in that look, and disappointment more than that. He nodded slowly, “I know… but at least The Widow might take care of him.”

“What?” Eomer asked as Lothiriel stared at her brother.

“There is, it seems, a ghost of a bride that was killed on her wedding night. She has been avenging wronged ladies in the court. One fellow has even died!”

“Then a ghost has more backbone than the lot of you?” Eomer shifted forward in his seat, “Let me make myself clear, and you take this to your king if you want, but if that bastard speaks to me, I’ll kill him. If he looks at Lothiriel, I’ll kill him. If he is anywhere in the city when I come south, I will find and kill him.” There was a hardness in his voice, even if his words were a bit difficult for Amrothos to grasp.

The Rohirric accent was hard enough for Amrothos’, admittedly untrained, ear to understand. There was a lilt and a lean to the roll of the language that came into the common tongue when the people of this country spoke. It was a pretty sound in a way, though when Eomer was less inclined to check his temper, it was a voice like music and murder, his words having a tendency to run together, or at least that was how it sounded to Amrothos.

“I will tell King Elessar,” Amrothos said.

“Tell the whole fucking court,” Eomer leaned forward, “Tell all of your folk that I’ll not tolerate seeing or hearing of any sort of behavior as that, and nor will any of my men!”

“Lord Peldirion comes from a very wealthy estate, and so we should perhaps handle this with some discretion.”

Lothiriel let out a snort, shaking her head, “Too late for that.”

Before Amrothos could ask what she meant, he had his answer as Eomer stormed on.

“I do not care where how much money he has. A man that acts in such a way, in this country, is hanged for it, whether he be noble or a field worker!” Eomer said, over enunciating each word as if he was aware suddenly that he might not be understood.

“Hurcheon,” Lothiriel murmured, setting her work down and smoothing her hand over his arm, hushing him gently. She had promised not to use her pet name for him in front of people, but she knew well enough that using a Rohirric slang word for it would not count as jeopardizing his legendarily stern demeanor with any such affectations.

There was an almost imperceptible change in Eomer King, before he slumped back in his chair and directed his gaze out through the window, though his countenance did not waver.

For a moment, Amrothos considered trying to mimic the word and tell Eomer that he was being decent at whatever it was that she had said. It would certainly be an easy joke to make, but Amrothos knew better than to test how well his sister could calm her husband’s temper, though for all of her claims that there was no miracle in it, Amrothos did feel rather certain he was witnessing one.

“I have been considering nominating Erchirion as ambassador,” Amrothos said with some tact, but not much, “I have no idea how far such a thing would go, nor do I want to force you to suffer our fool brother’s presence for so long as you would have to.”

There was a further softening in Eomer’s face, and he almost smiled at that, “Well, if your king could spare him.”

“You have only ever spent a few days with him at a time,” Amrothos scoffed, smirking, “and his head is full of flights of fancy, especially now. Though perhaps he would do well to get away from court for a time. He has been making himself quite helpful to a certain former lady of your household.”

Lothiriel’s face offered only a blank expression for a moment as she tried to sort out what it was that he was saying at all, “I beg your pardon?”

“I suppose he has become quite close with Lady Leowella, and he had gotten into his head that she might accept his interest.” Grey eyes widened on him and Amrothos wanted to know every detail, immediately.

“And?” Lothiriel demanded, vaguely aware of Eomer’s hand on her arm.

“Apparently she told him that she only wanted to be friends, and the fool is now trying to help her find a match.”

Eomer let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding, “Well, undoubtedly he will be a great help to her on that matter.”

“The sooner the better,” Lothiriel snapped, leaning forward to warm her coffee.

“May I be permitted to ask?” Amrothos asked, smelling the gossip.

“We had a falling out.”

“Over…?”

Lothiriel narrowed her eyes dangerously at Amrothos.

“I will keep the secret,” Amrothos swore, wanting to know what had been done that Lothiriel let her mask slip. Perhaps it was simply a lack of practice, as it seemed that she no longer felt a need to hide her feelings.

“I do not believe that in the least,” Lothiriel replied, “We had a falling out, and though I do not want her about me, I would not have her life destroyed. That is all.” The finality of her words put a stop to his questioning, and any hope he would have had at being able to find some further answer was more of less squashed by the plaintive look that Eomer gave him to drop it.

“I had not meant to bring as much ill news as I have done,” Amrothos said, for once seeming to actually bear some measure of regret over his loose mouth, “I only thought that you would be amused by what strange twists fate seem to put to us…”

“Do not think of it,” Lothiriel sighed, rubbing at one of her temples, “I am being…”

Eomer let out a low chuckle and accepted the gentle swat that Lothiriel gave his arm.

“I am pleased to see you, brother,” Lothiriel forced a smile, “and I wish that I could see you more oft than I do.”

Amrothos stared at her for a moment before laughing, “Then I shall ask if I might bring any missive from King Elessar, if you do not only speak so out of some sense that you should.”

“I have become far more forthright in my ways,” Lothiriel replied, “and I do tend to say what I mean.”

“Unless you are twisting my advisors about,” Eomer teased.

“That is politics, and thus different,” she retorted.

0x0x0

“What do you think of this plan of Aragorn’s?” Eomer asked when they had withdrawn for the evening and were alone. He had made a few statements, as they were brief and he was loath to call them speeches, reiterating his support for the alliance between the Mark and Stoneland, and stating that it was integral to their country.

“I would rather you not go, but I know you will not send your men off and not follow them,” Lothiriel said, still trying to sort through all of the possible answers.

“Indeed,” Eomer scoffed, undressing without a second thought, “I mean to ask if you are of an opinion that such a thing should be done. As I understand it, Harad surrendered after the fall of the Dark Tower. I do not in truth see a cause to then go back and start a fight over land.”

Lothiriel turned to look back at him, rubbing her ointments into her hands, thoughtfully, “I understand the desire to do so, as Elessar did come to the throne with a promise of returning Gondor to its full glory…”

“But?” Eomer asked, a little testily. He trusted her council, and wanted her to agree with him, or else to outright tell him that he was being foolish, and that he did not understand something. If she could offer some explanation that he had not considered, then he would be able to nod and accept that this was done for some cause beyond Aragorn’s own ambitions.

“Those that have long awaited the Return of a True King would see this as right, and as a thing foreseen,” Lothiriel went on.

“Aye, but you were not of that thought, were you?” Eomer had never heard her outright say so, but he had taken a few mentions here and there as evidence of that fact, all the more for she had been so close to the Stewardship.

“I think it foolish,” Lothiriel said with a sigh, “I see no cause beyond that it seems a thing that some think should be done. I understand that there have been some issues of trade, and that a few corsair attacks have occurred. It might be that the Harad had been ordering them to commit such things, or if they simply have not stopped them, but…” she looked away, “my own opinions are biased, as I have often thought that if Gondor could retake the lands that we lost that we ought to.”

“By that logic, the Dunlendings would be encouraged to take the Mark back for their own use,” Eomer pointed out, sitting on the end of the bed, leaning his forearms on his legs, as he pondered it over, “Do you support this invasion, or do you not?”

It should not have startled her that he had asked so directly, but it did pull her out of her thoughts, and she looked at him, “I think that the idea is that there is some benefit to doing so now, as they would not be able to present the numbers and strength that they had during the war-”

“Thiriel.”

“No,” she said, pursing her lips, “but the call has been given.”

“That should not be the use of the red arrow,” Eomer scoffed, laying back and staring at the ceiling, “It was only ever to be used for the more dire of needs, not some call to aid a king’s ego.”

Lothiriel crawled up onto the bed beside Eomer and lifted his head to rest it on her lap, combing her fingers through his hair, untwisting his braids, “We will need to begin the preparations for this, though I do with that we had more information of what is planned.”

“It is to be sieges,” Eomer murmured, “Aragorn wants as bloodless a war as can be had.”

She shook her head, “You will need provisions and grog, I think.”

“Grog?” Eomer squinted at her, not liking the sound of that.

“It is a sort of water that has been preserved. If you are going into the East, you will need water more than anything. An army cannot hold a position without a water source, and depending on where you mean to siege, there may be none.”

He let out a groan of frustration, and flung himself to sit up, “Are there no allies better suited to this? Our people are not… we do not know much of how to wage wars in such climes!”

She continued combing her fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face and over his shoulder, “Well, you are the best warrior in a nation of great warriors,” she said quietly.

“Hush now! Appealing to my vanity will not calm my indignation at this call.”

She thought a moment, “Not even a little?”

He had meant to tell her off, to tell her not to play with him now, and to give this as serious thought as he had, but seeing the concern that she tried to hide, his scolding died on his tongue. He could see how much she hated it, and the way that she was trying to soothe him and herself.

Leaning forward, he rested his brow against hers with a sigh, “You will write to me.”

“Of course,” she pulled his head to rest against her shoulder, her thumb stroking against his cheek, “I do not know how well such letters will be passed, but I will send them no matter. I know that you will be occupied, but if you might try to write to me…”

His arms wrapped around her waist, “I will do all that I may.”

He had never been so far from her, and for such she felt a quick wash of that now forgotten uncertainty in her marriage. It was not that she worried that she would be removed from her position, but that even if he was loyal to her here, and during the few weeks when he rode out, she tried not to consider what he might do when he was without her for so long. Might he find comfort elsewhere? She knew better than to ask, as he would take it as an insult, and would be right to see her as questioning his honor.

Men were men, and what they did away from home was not for a wife to know. She knew that there were women that followed after the war camps, and that in some ways were essential, and that not all sought to fill a purpose beyond washing or cooking to make some extra money. But she knew and had heard enough to know that others had different devices to fill their pockets. A good bedding could usually alleviate a good amount of Eomer’s frustration, and she tried to push that thought away from her mind. War and wrenching went together, she knew.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, knowing that she needed to make the next two weeks count, and that she was being foolish. Her husband loved her, and he was faithful. He had told her time and time again that she was the only woman that he wanted. He was not a liar, and she should trust to his word, but that fear would linger in the back of her mind for far longer than she would ever admit.

Nestling close against him for a moment, she tried to memorize how it felt for him to hug her, where his hands rested, or his arms bent. She wanted to remember how his skin smelled, and she would dedicate each of these small things to her memory over the next weeks.

She would need to give him some keepsake or other to remember her by. It was a done thing, she knew that from some of the girls she had known who had once had secret sweethearts in the war, and more than that, she had read of such things. She had commissioned such a thing but had not thought that it would be needed so soon.

“Ah, to bed with us, before you have me so morose that I run away from obligations,” he teased, pinching at her hip.

“To bed, my lord?” she asked with that smirk he liked.

It gave him pause, and he could admit it, at least to himself. With all that had been said today, he was not of a disposition for anything beyond sleep. He wanted the day over, and to fall asleep in his wife’s arms.

Cupping her face, he gave her a tentative smile, “to sleep, if you might accept that?”

She scoffed, and smiled back at him, making it clear she did not mean her words in the slightest, “Then I am no longer pleasing to you?”

He rolled his eyes and pulled the covers back, “I know you jest, but my weariness is even in my bones, love.”

“Amrothos has that effect on people,” she grinned, snuffing the candles.

For a time, they laid quietly together, and Eomer would easily have fallen into sleep, if he had not felt the distinct tension in Lothiriel’s body. He knew well enough by now that there was some other matter that she wanted to discuss and that if he fell for the trick of her quiet, he would only be roused out of his dozing by it.

“What make you of… Erchirion taking a shine to Leowella?” the question finally came, Lothiriel looking at the shape of his face in the dark.

“I think that if he likes her, then let them do as they will.”

“Even after all that happened?” Lothiriel sat up.

“Dear heart, that was months ago. You banished her from court, and had my sister take her abroad. Not to mention you punched her. What more do you want?”

“I do not want to see her.”

“I understand that, but if they are inclined to have some affection for each other, it would not be a bad match. They have humor enough between them, and I could see them doing quite well.”

“Oh, you would say that.”

“I am far more forgiving than you.”

She plopped back against her pillows, chewing on the inside of her cheek, staring into the darkness, and trying to decide why it upset her so much. The lesson had been taught, and Eomer would not fall into Leowella’s trap again. But might Leowella try something while Eomer was in Gondor? Was Leowella’s friendship with her brother some ploy to keep herself abreast of all the news coming from Meduseld, scant bits though they were?

He could hear the thoughts spinning about in her head. Rubbing his eyes, he rolled to pull Lothiriel into his arms, “Do you want me to speak with Erchirion when I am in the South?”

“What would you say?”

“I might explain to him why Lady Leowella is there?” he thought for a moment before he went on, “You and Eowyn wanted to get her married, and if Erchirion thinks to help her in that charge, as Amrothos said, I see no trouble with it.”

“You stay clear of her,” Lothiriel said, a sudden fierceness in her voice that made him laugh before he remembered himself.

“I will tell all of my guards that if she makes to approach me that she is to be knocked to the ground, and I am to be removed a safe distance.”

“Good,” she smiled pertly.

He chuckled again, and shifted as she curled against him, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”


	9. Chapter 9

The weeks of preparation moved in a rapid succession of minute details, with Lothiriel’s oversight at the center of the provisions that would be taken, in spite of the assurances from Gondor that they would be providing food and the like. It was not that she distrusted any of the Gondorians not to keep their words, but more that she was aware of how well laid plans could fall apart.

Eomer sent out the call, and they had received the promise of as many men as could be mustered. While Lothiriel’s thought that the attack was likely planned because of the weakness of their enemies, the same could be said for them. The war had rendered their numbers close to depleted, as had been the case in Gondor as well. This was likely the reason for a plan of siege rather than an active attack.

The plan, as Lothiriel understood it, was to stop supplies from being brought further into Harad, and on the face of things was not a terrible plan, though she was concerned about the idea of an attack from the rear of any position that they established. Having voiced this concern to Eomer, she received only a slim smile, and a squeeze to her hand.

“We shall have scouts, and any sign of an army we will be alerted,” Eomer said, and she could tell that he was saying this more to reassure her than to explain any sort of military planning. He could tell from the look on her face that she heard him, understood what he was telling her, and that it did not help in the least.

It was a foolish thing to be concerned about, though she was realizing that most of her concerns were in fact foolish, but she had a memento to give Eomer, and felt almost embarrassed over it. Having not devised a way to give her small gift to Eomer, she had left it in the trunk of his things, having already ensured that he had not forgotten anything. Besides the bundle of velvet, she had tucked a few of the books she thought would entertain him while he was afield, though she hoped he would have the sense not to tell anyone that she had given them to him.

0x0x0

He had meant to ensure that his effects had been packed, though it would not be honest to admit that he had hoped that Lothiriel would be in the apartment. If he had a moment of spare time, he wanted to spend it with her, but she perhaps did still feel a need to fulfill her social expectations. Lothiriel Queen was a great on for maintaining appearances, even if she was far from pleased about his forthcoming departure.

With a groan, he sat on the edge of his bed, looking over their room, and taking in each detail. As King, his sleeping arrangements would be far more comfortable than most of his men, but it would still be a cot in a tent in the middle of the desert, and no part of that appealed to him. He had been a soldier for almost half of his life, and he had never thought to complain of it until he had married. It was a thing that he already knew, and which was further cemented by the impending incursion.

It had entered his mind to refuse Aragorn’s call, and to offer as an explanation that his line was not yet secure. But to refuse the call would be to accept that his honor, and his word would be questioned. Alternatively, it could be said that he had been so changed by his marriage that he was no longer fit to be king. His reign was still new, and he could not outright risk any open display of weakness, especially not after the tumult and turmoil that Theoden had caused, had allowed to occur.

He would never tell Lothiriel of the rumors that Eomer had heard, that Fulgar had mentioned to him privately. Some rabble rousers had taken into their fool heads to speak out against Lothiriel Queen, and had Eomer the time to handle the matter, he would have. Granted, Lothiriel would have insisted on it being handled by taking a Royal Progress through the country, and perhaps that would have done the trick. Until he returned, Lothiriel was to remain in Edoras, and to rule in his place, as she had done before, but he had instructed Fulgar to ensure that she not hear of any rumor of insurrection, no matter how minor, until he returned. By then, it would have blown over, he was certain of it. The people would be assured of Lothiriel Queen’s ability to rule and any naysayer would be silenced.

It was the sort of thing that he likely should have told Lothiriel, and not kept as such a secret, but it seemed to be such a minor nuisance to him that mentioning it would only make the situation worse. Lothiriel would fixate on it for weeks, and presently there was nothing else that could be done, as far as he saw it. He had taken to Lothiriel’s lessons of appearances and the benefits thereof in politics with some reluctance, and he thought it likely that if Lothiriel went on a tour by herself that it might be seen as a coup.

“Is there no something that needs your attention?” Lothiriel teased, coming into the room with a bright and sunny countenance in place, “Or have you simply fallen into such a deeply thoughtful state over such things?”

Eomer gave her a smile, holding out his hand, bidding her to his side, “I am considering breaking the alliance to stay here with you,” he muttered as she sat beside him, resting against the footboard of the bed and pulling her feet up under her.

“That would be seen as an act of war,” she warned.

“If Aragorn means to rebuild Gondor, then it might be better to declare war before he manages it,” Eomer retorted, “All the better as he might have already begun moving his troops to the south.”

“Eomer King, the Oath Breaker, does have a ring to it,” she said, giggling as his face twisted in disgust, “It will be alright.”

“You have complete power while I am away, and you are beyond question.”

“I know, love,” she said with the irreverent tone of someone who had been told the same thing over and over again, as she had been with this matter. She wondered if it was being offered as a consolation, that she would have power in exchange for her husband’s absence, “Were there not a good cause to have the court see you before your departure, I would ask if we might dine alone.”

“I would prefer that.”

“And that is how I know we ought to sit at table.”

He groaned, laying back and closing his eyes, “Lay your head on my chest.”

“Why?” she asked, knowing the answer, but perfectly comfortable where she was.

“It is among my last commands until I return, my lady, and you are therefore bound to obey.”

“Am I?” she teased, laughing at the attempted look of fury that Eomer shot her as she crawled the short distance and rested her head over his heart. Her arm snuck around his middle slowly. It did not feel real that she would be entirely alone for perhaps months. It had not really struck her yet, beyond the poetic understanding of duty and honor. He needed to go, and she needed to stay.

Before her marriage, she would have taken this warring as a blessing, in the perverse way of having the power that would be hers, and in the shameful way of being able to be alone. But then, before her marriage, she had not expected to love her husband.

“You will come back,” she should have phrased it as a question, for there was still a small lingering part of her that worried that he might take a lover for his own comfort while he was away, and she had tried so hard to dismiss that thought. It was strange because she trusted him so implicitly, but she still felt at some moments that he was undeserving of his loyalty.

“No one has managed to kill me yet,” Eomer agreed. For a moment, he considered this, and he sat up, cupping her face in his hands, “I swear that I will return.”

Her hand slipped over his, and for a moment, she thought of so many things that she wanted to say to him, hardly any of which made sense.

“No matter what happens,” he went on, “I will return to you.”

They had their evening meal in the hall, and Eomer gave a speech, which Lothiriel had helped him compose, commending his men for their valor and their honor when called to the aid of their neighbors. He assured them all of a victory, or of a death of glory, a thing that Lothiriel had learned was somehow as valued as life to the Eorlinga, though she wondered if their wives and mothers shared this opinion.

0x0x0

Eomer looked over Lothiriel’s sleeping form and wondered if he had not taken the care with her that he ought to have, a small concern that pricked at the back of his mind, as ever. He was leaving her alone with no family, though she did have friends to keep her company.

A thought to that lack of family connection with those around her has come to him from time to time since Amrothos had brought the news of war, but in this late hour, a solution finally occurred to him.

Shifting carefully so as to not wake her, he left the bedroom and went to his study, and drew a sheet of parchment out and began his letter.

“To my dearest aunt, Thenghild, by my own hand,

The certainty that you will look at this letter and my seal and scoff or else shake your head at my lack of communications since my wedding is apparent to me. But I should like to imagine that you, being the daughter of a king, would understand the limitations on my time.

I am certain you have heard that I am to depart, in compliance with my treaty sworn to King Elessar of Gondor, and as such I am leaving my wife in Edoras to reign in my absence. She is in possession of loyal friends, but I do worry that she might feel the lack of family in a keen sort of way.

I know that I am putting an unfair request to you, but as you are my favorite aunt, I had hoped that perhaps you might reach out to her while I am away from home, and that you might offer her some comfort. I do hope that I have not, by this request, been too forward.

I hope that you are as ever well and that your lord husband has not been boring you.

With all sincerity and affection,

Eomer King of the Riddermark

Meduseld at Edoras.”

He looked over the brief letter, and considered that it was well enough written, and written in a kingly fashion, and so with a nod, he sealed the letter.

“Darling?” Lothiriel asked in a small voice at the door of his study, “What are you doing?”

With a smile, he held the sealed letter to her to show her the addressing that he had put on it, “Writing to my aunt.”

Lothiriel’s brow furrowed a little, and she was on the point of asking what it was all about, but she decided against it. She did not want to hear some morose or grim reason for such a thing, certain that he was writing to her in the case of his death. She rubbed at Eomer’s shoulders, “Come back to bed, love.”

Eomer caught her hand and kissed it before he stood, “Yes, love.” He draped her arm about her shoulders, “are you quite cross with me?”

“Sneaking about at night again?” she teased him, ignoring the thought that he would be out from under her gaze soon enough, and she reminded herself that Eomer loved her. She hardly needed to remind herself of it, as she could see it in his face. In truth, it was not entirely unusual for him to get out of bed in the middle of the night, and the first few times after the incident with Leowella, she had sought him out with no small measure of anxiety. There never again seemed to be any cause for her nerves, as each time she found him in his study, scribbling out some note, or reviewing some petition that he had forgotten to do in the daylight hours.

“I know, but I wanted to write that letter before I forgot to do so,” Eomer said, making that point for her.

“I should take to writing you more lists again?”

“By all that I hold dear, I beg you not to do it,” he teased, following her up the stairs to the apartment, and through the sitting room. “Dearest…”

She turned back to look at him as she shrugged her dressing gown off, and had almost asked what it was, but she knew. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, completely unable to stop herself from smiling, “Again? You have already bedded me tonight. Go to sleep.”

“Dearest,” Eomer whined, coming up behind her.

She let out a laugh that she tried to stifle. She had been rather keen on simply going back to bed, but she was awake now, feeling Eomer’s hands as they slid against her body.

He nuzzled against her shoulder, his pleading would put her off, if only for the reason that it was that he would not see her again for who knew how long. He wanted to have as much of her as he could in what little time that he had left with her.

0x0x0

The farewelling in the morning was the same ceremony that she had done a few times now, whenever Eomer went on patrol, for that was always what his departures were called whether there was the full cause or not. She gave her blessings, even as it felt so different. There was a weight about her, about Eomer, about it all.

That was the moment as he knelt for her blessing and she gave it, that it all became real. As he stood and gave her hand a squeeze, it all crushed down on her at once, and she fought to maintain her cheerful demeanor.

She tried to keep her mask in place as Eomer rode away, to a war that he did not want to fight in. There she stood on the wide stone veranda in front of Edoras, watching him until he disappeared from sight, not wanting him to turn back and see her not there.

It was two weeks or so before the suspicion on her delicate condition struck her.

0x0x0

When the Eorlingas had arrived in Minas Tirith, they had been fed and bedded for just long enough to rest for the road to war. The soldiers set their camp outside of the city and seemed happy enough to stay in the open space outside, while their King, his guards and his marshals were brough into the citadel.

He was given use of what he had been told had been Lothiriel’s chambers before her marriage, though there was no trace of her left in those rooms.

Having washed, Eomer had opened his trunk to find a clean tunic to wear at table, and found that, Lothiriel, his discreetly mischievous wife, had secreted three books into his trunk, and a simple golden locket roughly the size of his palm. He had found the small bundle of velvet a few days after his leaving Edoras, and had, with the curiosity of a man who had not remembered what he had packed, opened it quickly. It had taken him a moment to notice the crease about the edge of the engraved trinket and when he had opened it, he had been greeted by a small ceramic portrait of his wife, encircled by a black braided lock of her hair. The likeness was well done, at least to his eye, and the artist seemed to have captured some part of her spirit, at least the easier way that she had of teasing him in their private light, a twinkle in her eye and a coy, almost teasing smile on her lips.

It had sent a warm comfort through Eomer as he had sat on the edge of the bed, tracing a finger over the edge of the locket. He hoped that she was safe, and that she was not facing any trouble at home. He kissed the locket and set it on the bedside table, open so that he could look at it, though he put that trinket in his purse before he left to table.

He needed to be at table, and he needed to ensure that he behaved himself in a good and decent way in the sight of the court here.

For a moment, in the hall of the citadel, he thought he caught sight of Leowella, but before he could be certain of it, he lost sight of that lady, and wasn’t able to pick her out of the crowd again. It seemed to him that it was for the better, as Lothiriel had made her feelings clear on the very idea of Eomer speaking to her former friend.

“Your lady wife has been keeping herself quite occupied, I hear,” Aragorn said, smiling at Eomer.

“Aye, she has been spending almost every spare moment that she has at her disposal trying to invest in the farms,” Eomer replied, still prickling at the cause for him coming here at all, but he knew that he should not be rude to his friend. He would try to find some time to share his thoughts on the invasion, as he wanted to be open with his thoughts and opinions on this matter, away from the eyes and ears of the court. He was distinctly aware of people looking at him, and of the specific look that he knew would be followed by some catty remark. “Lothiriel has been a blessing.”

“A wife should be a blessing,” Aragorn smiled, his eyes picking out where Arwen stood with Eowyn, “all the more when that wife is a Queen. At least you have left your country in capable hands.”

Eomer let out a low grunt, looking about the hall, “I do wonder if it is the best time for what you have planned.”

“My councilors have assured me that if all goes to plan that we will only be in Harad a few weeks,” Aragorn said, not being dismissive, more wanting to reassure his friend and fellow king that he was not being led on a fool’s errand. “We will be back with our wives in no time.”

“And the patrol riders that we will have in place will ensure the security of our own supply line?” Eomer asked, “We need to ensure that we have water at the very least.”

“My friend, it has all been taken in hand. We will have relays to the citadel, and should anything go awry, Faramir will know in a matter of a day, and send reinforcements.”

It seemed too simple, but Eomer could not think of an argument, so with a sigh, he nodded, “If you are certain of it, I will take you at your word.”

Aragorn studied Eomer, “I do not recall you being so cautious in The Great War.” There was a teasing undertone to his words, but through it, Aragorn was far too aware of the tension that had set itself in Eomer’s shoulders. There had always been a sort of tension about the Rohir, but it was of a different sort, more impatient and ready to act, or to withdraw entirely. For all of his quickness of action, there had always been a strategic awareness in Eomer, even as he had been to seem to constantly be rearing for a fight. Now there was a sort of suspicion, or irritable dismissal in the way that Eomer looked out over the court, as if he thought them all fools.

“As you say, having a wife is a blessing, and one that I have been given,” Eomer grumbled in response.

“You will be back with her soon,” Aragorn promised, “When we have our victory, you should call her south for the celebrations. I know her family would be pleased to see her.”

There was a tightening in Eomer’s jaw, almost imperceptible beneath his beard, and he gave a small grunt, signifying that he had heard, but did not want to offer some comment that might not been seen as proper in the current setting.

He would speak with Lothiriel’s family, though the lot of them might not like it. For all of her assurances that the past should be left where it lay, Eomer was not of the mind to let it. There were things that he wanted answers to, and Lothiriel had tried to give her understandings of the decisions and actions that had shaped her life, but ever with the understanding that she did not want to want to talk of such things. He needed to understand it all, for everything that she had said of her family relationships had left him with more questions than understanding. Her whole, tangled life was like a puzzle where he could almost see the image, but not quite.

Aragorn clasped his friend’s shoulder, “I know that it does not seem as important to you, but this must be done, and as quickly as possible.”

Eomer’s hand clenched and unclenched on the table, “I honor my oaths, even when doing so come at a price, and that is a thing that should not be forgotten in future.”

“That you are honorable?”

“That everything has a price, whether we see it or not.”

Was that a further show of Lothiriel’s influence, Aragorn wondered, the almost philosophical notion, or had that high thoughtfulness always been there, but without the time and peace that such thought required, “I note your words, Your Majesty.”

With a short nod, Eomer looked away again, “See that you do, for if I lose men on this endeavor, I will need to explain the causes of such losses to their families.”

He knew of the ways of the Eorlinga, and in some way Aragorn had always considered them almost simple, as a good number of those of Numenorean descent, thinking them too much like The Middle Men that lacked that blood, in spite of the fact that the Edain preceded them. But there was something in the responsibility, even in a king, that spoke of a higher value. Aragorn wondered how this would be done, if in the times after The Great War Eomer had spoken to each family that had lost a man, or if it was simply the giving of pensions that was deemed explanation. Was it that this war might not be seen as being a matter for the Riddermark beyond their alliance, or that they had considered their threats seen to?

It might be decent to ask, and a part of Aragorn did want to have this conversation with his friend, but such things could be seen to when they returned in victory, and he could say that he had done what was needed for his country.

There were still members of this court, silent though they were in such thoughts, that there should not have been a king at all, and that Elessar was little better than a foreign interloper who had come to lay an absurd and ancient claim. If he was able to give the nobility of Gondor what they deemed as their rights, they might cease in questioning his.

0x0x0

Roughly a week and a half had passed since the army had left, and though there had been some concerns over the Dunlendings taking this opportunity to attack, there had been no sight of any such thing. Lothiriel’s meetings with the Council went smoothly, as they had since Eomer had brought the silent threat of his fury to the table, and she managed the running of the kingdom well.

She studied her ledgers and the petitions, and it had been agreed before Eomer left that they would postpone the hearings of those matters that would require it. Eomer had been against it but had been convinced that any of Lothiriel’s rulings might, on technicality, be seen as nonbinding and that people would in those cases simply reissue their petitions.

Thus, it was a bit odd when a lady appeared and demanded that she be given audience with Lothiriel Queen at once. The door warden, a sweet young man named Gerndil, had sent word to ask if Lothiriel was expecting anyone, and upon being told that she was not, admitted this lady once he was assured that the Queen’s guards were with her.

It was all the stranger for the way that the vaguely familiar lady breezed into the hall, looking about at the minor changes in tapestries with approval before grinning at Lothiriel.

“Your Grace,” she dipped into a curtsy before embracing a rather confused Lothiriel, “How have you keeping yourself, darling?” There was the faintest hint of the Lossarnach accent in her voice, and Lothiriel would later berate herself for not catching it or taking in the lady’s darker coloring and guessing at who she was.

“Quite well, thank you,” Lothiriel said, slowly, smiling through her confusion, though it still must have been clear that she had no idea what was happening.

A look of understanding flashed over the middle-aged woman’s face, “You do not remember me. Take not a worry for that, dear, I am certain the wedding was an overwhelming experience.”

“Indeed,” Lothiriel smiled on, “I do beg your pardon, Lady…?”

“Thenghild,” the woman smiled, warmly, watching as the young queen’s eyes widened at the realization, and let out a mirthful breath, “My dear nephew did not tell you that he had written me?”

“He mentioned it,” Lothiriel cleared her throat, “Heohild will you have some tea brought to the sitting room, or perhaps some wine,” she said after a moment, catching a look in Eomer’s Aunt’s face. Either way it would need to be brought, as Lothiriel had finished off what she had kept in the sitting room the night before. She waved her guards off and fell in step with the lady, “Did he invite you? Blessed man, he has the worst memory, I swear it.”

“He asked if I might ensure that you were well while he was away,” Thenghild said, clearly feeling a little embarrassed, though she was one of those people that seemed far more comfortable to simply pretend that all was well to the point of absurdity, “though I should have guessed that he would not have said.”

Lothiriel sat at the small table, watching the strange woman as she looked about the room, trying to decide if she liked Thenghild or not, making a note to herself that she would have words with Eomer when he returned.

“You have very good tastes,” Thenghild said, smiling as she looked about the room, “My brother, rest his soul would just throw anything up and consider it done.”

“Thank you,” Lothiriel said. How this woman came to be in her house she understood, but she seemed dedicated to complimenting Lothiriel, a thing that the queen would never put a stop to, even if it was a little off-putting.

“I am sorry to have pushed in so,” Thenghild went on with a lightness that could not be forced, “If I am a bother, you simply tell me so, and I shall be off at once!”

“Oh, it is quite alright,” Lothiriel said with a smile that did feel more genuine somehow, though it might have been Heohild was back with the wine, or that Caelon clearly like Thenghild and was being pet, “I am simply surprised. How is your husband?”

“He is well, which I thank all the Valar for, as he is constantly certain that his hay fever is in fact some congenital illness that will not leave him alive, in spite of the fact that spring comes every year, and with it the same condition.”

Some wine threatened to come out of Lothiriel’s nose as she choked back a laugh, her hand pressed over her face, which did earn her a smile from the lady. Clearing her throat, Lothiriel nodded, “Well then, perhaps we should send some flowers to comfort him, since he will no doubt be lonely without you.”

The smile widened and Thenghild smacked her hand on the arm of her chair, “At least I shall not be there to suffer through Foldan’s sniffling.” She tilted her head a little as she took a sip of wine, studying Lothiriel, “Tell me, is my fool nephew being a decent husband?”

It was not a question that Lothiriel had anticipated, at least not yet, but she smiled, “If he were not, he would not be my husband.”

“Good,” Thenghild smiled, toasting her glass toward Lothiriel approvingly, “From his letters, I can tell that he is quite in love with you, which is certainly good, for he took far too long to marry and… well, I was concerned that the marriage should be a happy one.”

“Do you give all of your opinions so freely?” Lothiriel asked.

“Only when they have not been asked for, as I find that such times as that are the best ones to voice such contrary thoughts.”

Lothiriel laughed, deciding that she did like Thenghild so far. She seemed like the sort of woman that Lothiriel wished she could be. There would be time to see if Lothiriel would in fact get along well with the lady. She had always enjoyed the overly forward and familiar ladies of this court, in spite of the fact that it had not always worked on in her benefit. Perhaps this time would be different, though, at least she hoped it would be.

0x0x0

There were few things in life Eomer hated so much as the heat. On further consideration, he did not hate it so much as he hated the idea of not being able to get himself comfortable. He could hardly see a reason for this siege, and it entered his mind more than a few times that if the people that lived in the city that they had surrounded wanted this land, that they should be welcomed to keep it.

They had brought something that was akin to water to ensure that the army did not die of thirst, but it was sour and not a thing that Eomer would have drunk willingly if it was not a necessity.

The siege had been set easily, and it had begun in tandem with one at the Harbor of Umbar and another trading town. As much as he knew Lothiriel would scold him for thinking it, he almost wished for a liberation force to attack so that he might have something to do. Even as he thought it, the idea of fighting in the stifling desert heat almost irritated more than the boredom.

Why had he dragged his men across two countries to sit and do nothing? It was a soldier’s job, by nature of his occupation, to go at his lord’s bidding, and without question, but Eomer thought this entire thing a folly.

In an absentminded way, he wondered if he had been joined by his wife’s father and brothers, as well as their men, in some hope of them being a calming influence, or if they had all thought that as Eomer was now a member of their family that they should stay together. It was, of course, entirely possible that Imrahil had thought to ensure Lothiriel’s influence, and by extension his own, but none of them had yet spoken much to him beyond casual formalities that were expected of them as Lothiriel’s kin. That did exclude Erchirion who had seen him in Minas Tirith and had, in his excited way charged over and inquired after his health, his travels and his home life.

Erchirion had been the one to explain to the Rohirric King that it was not wise for he and his men to take their shirts off, no matter how hot it was. He had explained that their coloring did not have much in a way to protect them from direct sunlight, and that concern was proved when a few of Eomer’s men complained of their skin having been burned by the sun, and that the sun clearly wanted them dead. Eomer had thanked his wife’s brother, his own brother as far as he saw it, though had he been in a better mood, he might have teased Erchirion about the wide-eyed look that Erchirion had given over his men when Amrothos had dragged him out of their tent to show him the mass of shirtless men, trying to cool themselves.

In truth, though he could not yet admit it, Eomer had been in a rather foul mood since leaving Minas Tirith, and the long march across the desert had done next to nothing to improve his mood. The only time at which there had been any sort of relief from the heat was at night, but even then, he felt stifled, and he needed some distraction from his own discomfort beyond Lothiriel’s illicit books. The trouble was that any distraction beyond reading that Eomer was able to think of required physical exercise and the heat rendered those ideas unlikely.

The books themselves did some measure of good, as far as such a thing could be done, and Eothain had teased him about taking on the habits of his Gondorian wife, and that clearly, he was meaning to become a scholar to please her. Once more, if Eomer had been of a better disposition he would have taken the teasing as what it was, rather than grunting out an answer and ignoring his friend.

Imrahil approached the King’s tent and gave his son-by-marriage a low and respectful bow, “You Majesty.”

“Your Highness,” Eomer replied, immediately feeling regret over the biting tone with which he spoke as he closed his book. He did try to smile, but he knew it did not appear as friendly as it ought to have, “Is there some way that I might help you?”

“Might I sit with you for a time?”

Eomer gestured to the cushion beside him, in the shade cast by his tent. For not the first time, he sent his thanks to Lothiriel for having sent blankets and cushions rather than stools, for they seemed more comfortable than the stools and seats that they normally would have brought on campaign.

“How find you married life?” Imrahil asked as he settled down beside Eomer.

He wondered if every member of Lothiriel’s family was going to ask this of him, if they did not speak to each other of the matter, or if they did and they then did not trust each other’s testimonies, or that of Eowyn, and so felt that they needed to confirm this thing themselves.

“I find that your daughter is a credit to you,” Eomer replied, “or is it that she is a credit to her uncle?”

Imrahil’s face did not change, but he did give a nod that seemed almost resigned to Eomer King’s words, ever the consummate courtier, it seemed, he would not have a row with a sovereign, “Indeed. Is there any chance of a pregnancy? Have you heard?”

Eomer fought the urge to roll his eyes at his wife’s father. With a deep breath, he sat forward, “I have not, but may assure you that every care has been taken, and that we consider the charge of producing an heir to be as serious and important as anyone else has. I should appreciate if you would consider the pressure that you have been laying on my lady wife by you continued questioning in that vein.”

“It has not been my intention,” Imrahil objected, his face falling at last.

It struck Eomer that Imrahil had not ever truly considered this at all, “Perhaps not, but you should mind what it is that you do with more care than you have done.”

“My lord,” the Prince stammered, “I have only asked out of concern for my daughter.”

Eomer grumbled, settling back, and studying the older man, “You daughter is already concerned, and has been for months, and she does not need to be constantly reminded by your every letter that there is that expectation of her. Nor do I need to consistently reassure my wife that she has not failed in this.”

“Your Majesty-”

“I have spoken with a midwife, as well as companions of mine who have children, and have been told that pressure of that manner can make conception more difficult,” Eomer retorted, his accent coming on a bit harder as his temper flared, all the more for the mild smugness of the fact that he had spoken to someone who would know.

“That is not the reason that I ask!” Imrahil’s voice raised, his prefect composure shattered for a moment as Eomer glared at him, “Would that Lothiriel had told me that it bothered her so much as this, for I would have better explained my intent.”

“Do you think she would ever consider telling you anything more than what she thinks appropriate?! You handed her off and had little interaction with her beyond what was obligated by societal pressure.”

Imrahil took a deep breath, before speaking further, “I only inquire as I, being a man of a certain age, am eager for grandchildren. I do love the ones that I have, and they are precious… but there are occasions at which they can be quite wild.”

“Well, I suppose we should take the fact that they have a mother as a blessing, or else you might try to find some other place for them.” It was a well-placed blow and Eomer fought the part of himself that wanted to comfort Imrahil as the Prince’s head fell into his hands. For a moment, Eomer watched, not certain if he ought to speak further, yet, or if he should make some platitude to the man.

When Imrahil raised his head again and looked back at Eomer, the King did feel a smug sort of satisfaction at the glistening in the Prince’s eyes.

“Does my daughter hate me still?”

There was no answer that Eomer could give that would not make things worse. He could not say that Lothiriel seemed to consider her family little beyond the letters she replied to, nor could he say that she still carried the indignation of her life in some dark secret place in her heart.

“Why did you not tell her that I had asked to court her?” Eomer said after a volatile stretch of silence, “Why did you allow her to think that she had been traded off like chattel?”

“I thought that she knew of your interest,” Imrahil said, confusion clear on his face, “The whole of the court was speaking of it, and as my daughter does love gossip, I had assumed…”

“You should have let us court,” Eomer said, admittedly a little petulant, and noted that there was a strange look on Imrahil’s face, “Oh, say it, already.”

“I do beg your pardon, and I mean, of course, no offense to Your Majesty,” Imrahil began, falling back into groveling, seemingly as a defense mechanism, “but your people are… less informal in the ways that you go about courting, and I had been concerned that Lothiriel’s honor would therefore be in question.”

Eomer narrowed his eyes, trying to make sense of every bizarre twist that this conversation had taken. From what Imrahil had said, and a thing that might be true in its own strange way, that he wanted grandchildren, likely to spoil. That would in time, prove true, and Eomer would have accepted it by the time that they returned to Minas Tirith. But this reason for their hasty marriage was, in spite of Imrahil’s assurance that he meant no injury to Eomer King’s sense or honor, an insult.

“You mean to tell me that you married your daughter to me because you feared that I would be indecorous with her person?” his voice was low, “And with that, you decided that I was so low of reputation that I should not be trusted with her outside of marriage?”

“When you say it in that way, it seems a vicious thing.”

“Is there a way that you have considered it not so?”

“Eomer King, you are my friend, and I did not consider my actions to be wrong,” Imrahil said gently, “If they were, then I am deeply sorry of it. I only thought to make a good marriage for my daughter.”

“The same reason that you gave for sending her to Minas Tirith,” Eomer said, a mock thoughtfulness in his voice as he pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck, trying to get some air on his skin, “though I do wonder how well you thought that would be done when the eye of The Enemy had been on that city for so long. Have you some slick way to explain that?”

Imrahil’s face darkened a little, “I should not think to sit here and be insulted.”

“No one is forcing you to sit, but if you walk away from these questions, I will take that as an admission of wrong-doing.”

With a smirk, Imrahil settled back, looking at Eomer with something like renewed interest, “It is strange to hear my daughter’s manners from you. She has been teaching you well, then?”

In spite of himself, Eomer smiled.

“I should have known this talk would come, and I should have prepared myself for it. In truth, I should think that the way that you speak to me now should be taken as a blessing for Lothiriel, as you clearly love her well enough to spar with me over her.”

“I do.”

Imrahil nodded slowly, “I should have sent Lothiriel to live with my sister, a matter that caused a good deal of gossip until Denethor sent her to school. My wife was dead, and it is common for fathers of our standing, in such cases, to send our daughters, or even our sons, into wardships. Amrothos went to live with Lord Angbor for a time after Lady Neithariel left my service, though Amrothos had his over governess.”

Eomer stared at his father-by-law, trying to strangle his temper and to be understanding of what Imrahil was telling him, and doing so with such earnestness that Eomer found himself calming and believing the words, “Why did she not go to Lady Ivriniel?”

“How shall I put this delicately…?” Imrahil said with care, “My sister would have been good for the charge, and would have taken care of her well, but she is a woman that has never married, and there have been… rumors of her having interests that might not be seen as natural.” There was significance in the words and Imrahil looked at Eomer with a brow cocked.

“So, your sister likes women,” Eomer said, not impressed, “and you thought that such a thing would throw a pall over Lothiriel? I do not see how, as I know that there are members of your family with, as you call it, not natural interests, and neither of them were given any trouble for it.”

“Ivriniel has always been of the opinion that men may do as the please, whereas women may not, and perhaps that is some part of it, but as I was trying to come to a decision, Denethor wrote that he would be honored to take up the wardship of Lothiriel. He was always fond of her, and I thought, though I would never admit it, and I will deny it if asked…” Imrahil looked away for a moment, “I thought that Denethor would be a better father to her than I was, and I was right in that at least.”

Eomer studied the dejected man as Imrahil looked back at him, every regret laid bare in his eyes.

“I love my daughter, but I have never been able to express that in any way that mattered,” Imrahil said, “I will, when next I see her, beg her pardon, though I do not deserve it.”

Eomer nodded, a slow and careful movement, “I should not have snapped at you, but Lothiriel is everything to me.”

“As it should be,” Imrahil smiled, wistfully and a little sadly, “My wife would likely have stopped me from making the mistakes I have. She would have told me what I fool I was. Lothiriel is so much like her sometimes… her temper most of all.”

With a quick snort, Eomer looked away, “I fear no battle, but my wife’s temper, I’ll run from.”

“That is likely the safest option,” Imrahil agreed.

The answers and reasoning might all make sense to Imrahil, and Eomer wanted to be understanding, though to his understanding of things these excuses and explanations were not adequate. It did not seem that he would have any further understanding of any of it, nor did he think that he should press for more than what had already been said.

He could imagine Lothiriel chiding him for starting a quarrel with her father, and Eomer knew that he would have an earful whenever she did find out about this conversation, but he held no regrets about it at all. It was as close to clearing the air as he would be able to have. Perhaps he should have been calmer in broaching the subject, but he had done what he had and there was no taking it back or changing it, and so the only thing to do was to move forward.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, fair warning, Elphir is going to be quite a jerk in this chapter.
> 
> Alright, enjoy!

Lothiriel had been waiting for the uncertainty of her ruling to end, and for the council to turn on her again, but there was no sign that it was to happen. She wondered if it was because Eomer had made his thoughts on their disrespect clear, if they had decided that Lothiriel was in fact a competent stateswoman, or if having Lady Thenghild about gave them someone else to direct their ire to.

It seemed that by and large, the elder generation of lords seemed to view Lady Thenghild as a frivolous and silly woman, which she might be, but their derision seemed to delight the Royal Aunt.

“Those pickled old goats have never had been of a mind to appreciate anything that does not align with their own ideas of righteousness,” Lady Thenghild smirked over her wine, leaning back in her seat, “a lack of imagination that I am certain you have noticed.”

“They are not so terrible as that,” Lady Baldgwyn cautioned.

“Pish. Fulgar is the worst of them all.”

“A few months ago, I would have agreed, but I have found him quite helpful,” Lothiriel said.

“Of course, you have,” Thenghild tilted her head, “I am certain a clever girl like you would know how governance works. One must keep the old men happy, and failing that, keep the young men interested and on your side. In the best case, one should do both.”

“That is a dim view of things,” Lady Baldgwyn sniffed, in spite of the fact that it had summarized her advice to Lothiriel in a neat way.

“It is true in a way, though my lady aunt speaks simplistically,” Lothiriel replied, “though I wish it was not.”

“How very Gondorian,” Thenghild chuckled, “My mother might like you… or at least give you some measure of grudging respect.”

“I thought that the rumors of Morwen Steelsheen being… difficult were only for she was a strong woman?”

“My mother can be difficult and strong, and hard to be around. I, for one, was never able to be with her for long.”

“Why?”

“I suppose I was always a bit of a disappointment to her. I could never play the quiet political games that she wanted me to, in spite of the fact that I could understand the rules and theories.”

“Try as you might,” Lady Baldgwyn replied, clearly thinking that Thenghild had never really tried very hard, and to her credit, Lothiriel could not imagine Thenghild doing anything but what she wanted.

Lothiriel wondered what Thenghild’s husband was like and, and if she would ever meet him. Thenghild has said that Lord Foldan did not like court life, preferring his quiet country life away from society. It sounded like a dull life, but if Thenghild was of a mind to live in such a way, Lothiriel would not comment on it. With the absentminded way that was becoming a habit, Lothiriel looked out through the window, her hand smoothing over her belly.

By now, she had heard of some malcontents that were displeased with her Queenship, but from what she had heard she would not be able to do anything to appease them. The main crux of their argument against her was that she was not born of the Mark, and these ingrates seemed to think that her coming was part of some infiltration or other. The idea was that King Elessar would not be contented until he had taken the entire continent, a suspicion that was not helped by the fact that the red arrow had been received, and that Eomer King had gone to war for such a notion.

These supposed conspiracies could not be argued, as Lothiriel thought that to do so would give them some legitimacy, and so had chosen to publicly ignore them. In private, she had asked Heohild to bring her any political images that might have been dispersed, a perverse part of her mind wanting to collect them. It was easier to make it all into a joke than it would be to admit that this upset her. She wondered if Eomer knew, and what he might think to do or say if it went on.

“Are you well, Your Grace?” Lady Baldgwyn asked, having noticed this tendency, and not wanting to voice her own suspicions, even if they were close to the rumors that had been carefully kept from Lothiriel Queen’s hearing. It was not uncommon for the nobles to have different servants in the Royal Household that might pass on a bit of information from time to time, though in this case it was a bit harder to get any such information, as Eomer King had spent so much of his life shaking off help and managing things himself. But one of the washerwomen had told Baldgwyn that Lothiriel Queen’s had missed one of her courses. The Queen had said nothing of this, at least not to her, and was likely being overly cautious, but that hand resting over her belly was a tell.

“Hm? Yes,” Lothiriel smiled delicately.

“You looked quite out of sorts, dear…”

“The Queen misses her husband,” Thenghild chided, almost smelling that her friend was trying to bait the Queen into speaking. “leave her be.”

“I do hope that he is well,” Lothiriel mused, “he has sent no word but that the army reached Minas Tirith.”

“Did you expect more?”

“He said that he would write,” Lothiriel replied, knowing full well that it was a moot point, and a family joke that he could not be expected to write regularly. She had received more word from Eowyn than from her husband.

“Then he will, though not as much as you should like,” Thenghild said with a knowing smile, “If you tell him that he has failed in that charge, Eomer will feel dreadful and he would at least try to rectify the situation. If you asked, he might even try to write you verse, but I would caution against such things, as my blessed nephew’s poetry will make you wish to never read another line.”

0x0x0

“Far be it for me to tell a king anything,” Eothain teased, “but if you continue discarding your pages so we might have no paper left.”

Eomer let out a sound, half scoff and half growl at the criticism, knowing it was true, but not wanting to hear it, nor did he want to hear Elfhelm’s chuckle at it. What he wanted was to write a few decent lines that he could send back to Lothiriel, but every time he put pen to paper, he was struck by his abject failure to compose anything that might please her. He uncrumpled one of the balls of paper that littered the ground, and he looked at it again.

_My Own Dear Heart,_

_Would that I could write of the beauty of the stars, but I do not see it for your beauty outshines even celestial light…_

He grumbled before crumpling it again, “At least the port siege has been achieved, and Aragorn will come with reinforcements. That might scare them all into surrender.”

Eothain stretched, “Thanks be for that. It has been too long with too little to do.”

“Would you rather have an open battle?” Elfhelm asked, his brow furrowing at the youthful stupidity that he was witnessing. He disliked the heat as much as the rest of their men, but he was of an age where he would take the dull existence of sitting in a tent over slaughter.

“I suppose,” Eothain said after a moment of thought, “thought I should not. I feel as though if we had a battle, we would at least know which way things were headed.”

“I do detest when you make sense,” Eomer grumbled, looking over the stone walls surrounding the city. He wondered what the people inside called this place, and what they thought was happening.

“Perhaps if we were to tunnel under the wall?” Eothain asked suddenly, his face lighting with what must have been a week’s worth of ideas, “Or else we might find some way to enter the city?”

“Will you dress as one of the women to enter?” Elfhelm asked, chuckling, and wondering if perhaps it was the worst idea.

“I had more thought that we might…” Eothain looked a little nervous, but leaned forward, “I heard a tale from one of the Swan Knights of an ancient battle. The army built some structure or other, as a gift for the gods, and it was brought into the city. Might we build a giant horse, as it is our symbol, and give it as a peace offering?”

“Why?” Eomer asked, trying to work out the logistics of such a build.

“For having built this thing, we could then hide men in it, and when night falls, the soldiers would be inside the walls. They could open the doors and we could storm the city while all inside slept!”

“What would we even build such a thing with?” Elfhelm snorted, “We would need to use the carts, and our tent posts. It would leave us with no shelter, and no way to carry our things back. Would you carry the ale and provisions on your back?”

“Why would they even open the gate?” Eomer asked, certain that he was missing some part of this plan that would make it work.

“They would not, if our camp stood, so we must move our camp from sight!” Eothain went on.

“By what means would we do this when all of our wood is in the shape of this offering?” Elfhelm asked, “There are too many of us to hide well, and would we bury our horses to hide them?”

“You are only arguing because you do not want my plan to be sound!”

“I am arguing because your plan would have been sound if it had been a plan before we left!” Elfhelm retorted, “Had we the supplies, I grant you, it might have worked, but we can hardly send word back to send timber for such a thing!”

“I fail to see why anyone would accept a large wooden offering from enemies, especially when it might be hollow,” Eomer interjected, “It would seem a clear trap, and I doubt any would fall for such a thing. Having some of the men dress as washer women might do better…”

“Save the fact that you can tell a man from a woman at a glance,” Eothain replied.

“Then we might send some of the younger men,” Eomer said, thinking through how to accomplish such a thing.

Failing to find an argument against this, Eothain nodded, in spite of the fact that his plan was clearly better, even if no one else saw the genius in it.

He had sent word to Aragorn that the siege had stood, and that there seemed to be no sign of it breaking, and he thought it likely that there was water inside of the city’s walls. It seemed to him to be the only way that a people would build such permanent settlements in such an inhospitable land was if they had found water. It would also explain the washerwomen who took their clothes into the city to clean them.

That raised a few questions, and Eomer had not yet given up any of his clothing to be washed, in spite of the fact that these women brought everything back and gave them to the rightful owners. But was it possible that this was some ploy? Perhaps these women, who sought to make their money had been sent to steal their clothing? That idea had been disproved rather quickly.

He wondered what their families thought of their taking in work from the invading force, and if after this ended if their families would call them traitors, or if they would accept the money and the reasons for the work and never speak about it again.

In truth he made no attempt to approach any of the women, not wanting to give the impression, which would be assured by his ill temperament, that the horse lords were as foul and ornery as some seemed to think. Granted that stereotype did seem to be battled by the fact that most of his men seem cheered by the presence of women in the camp. They would sing and dance with the women. It was a way to pass the time, Eomer supposed, but he stayed clear of it.

Eomer grunted again, “Did I tell you that my aunt is in Edoras?”

“No. Which aunt?” Eothain asked.

“Thenghild.”

With a grin, Eothain nodded, “I imagine Lothiriel will find her quite amusing.”

“Amusing indeed. It seems that all is well, save that one matter…”

“Does Lothiriel Queen know yet? Does she say?”

“She has not written of it, so I have no idea.” It had entered his mind that if Lothiriel was faced with these blackguards in person, or knew who they were, that she might put their heads on pikes, and would be well within her rights to do so. The idea gave him a smile, though perhaps it was wicked to think of it.

“You should have told her.”

“I know,” Eomer snapped back, “You seem so full of critique for me.”

Elfhelm shook his head, deciding to hold his tongue on all of that. If some rabble rousers wanted to call for Lothiriel Queen’s removal, they would then need to face the wrath of their king. It was likely the actions of some bored and biased fools, and nothing would come of it. Even with that in mind, he did not think that it was ever a good idea to keep secrets from one’s wife.

“Well, you have needed it. You have been such an irritable git,” Eothain noted the way that Eomer’s lips curled and decided to change tactics, “though who could blame you. Our people are not made for these climates.”

“I will speak with Aragorn and see if we might be allowed to never be called into the desert again,” Eomer said, looking out over the dunes, seeing little to recommend this place as valuable.

Eothain nodded, “I do wonder how he would take such a request.” His eyes picked out a few of the camp followers in the distant reaches of the camp. He had no complaints of the women, as such, it did seem to help morale, and they did seem to be kindly enough.

“Compliment her bosom,” Eothain said after a moment of silence.

“What?” Eomer asked, distinctly aware of the tensioning in Elfhelm’s hand, knowing that the older marshal was fighting the impulse to smack the back of Eothain’s head.

“In your writing! Do not act so mortified!” Eothain laughed, “I compliment my wife in such a manner, and she seems ever contented by it.”

“Do not listen to him,” Elfhelm counselled sagely, “A thing said, and a thing written are like to be taken differently, even if they are the same.”

Elphir made his way over, a jovial sort of smile on his face and Eomer bit down on his back teeth, trying not to grimace. He had no reason to dislike his wife’s brother, but he was simply not of a mood to speak with anyone beyond his immediate circle. The argument, and conciliation with Imrahil was still fresh, even if it was weeks past, and though they had made peace, he felt a lingering resentment to most of Lothiriel’s family. It would pass, but he wished that he had the time for it to do so with needing to be so constantly around them.

“Your Majesty,” Elphir bowed before dropping to sit with the men, offering out a bottle of wine, which Eomer accepted, hoping that it would help him sleep.

The last few nights, and perhaps longer than that, Eomer had found sleep eluding him, or else he would fall fast, and only for a few hours. It was his opinion that he had become so unused to sleeping alone that he could not manage it, a thing only exacerbated by the current situation.

He noted a specific sort of relaxation in Elphir, and Eomer knew that his wife’s brother had taken a few of the women up on their offered services beyond laundry. It rankled him more than a little but felt in a way that it was not his place to speak of it without being asked. He thought such betrayal of marriage to be dishonorable beyond explanation. Perhaps Lady Gadrien did not mind this straying. Eomer did know of some couples that had arrangements of that sort, though they were few and far between.

With a smirk at the way that Eomer was looking at him, Elphir seemed to know what it was that the king was thinking, “I should recommend Mistress Tuldar, for she knows her trade well.”

Eomer’s eyes narrowed before he looked away, “Noted.”

Elphir chuckled at the dismissal, “Alright, then.” He thought of teasing Eomer about the washerwoman that he had stared at for a moment, but he thought better of it.

In truth it had only been for a moment, and Eomer had thought that he was going mad, for she had borne some passing resemblance to Lothiriel. In that moment, he had wondered if Lothiriel had snuck away to find him, and he had not considered how outlandish such a thought was. He had almost leapt to his feet and run to her, but he had been stopped when he realized that it was not her.

He thought about his wife almost constantly, remembering and imagining her as the only thing that kept him sane. Though perhaps it was a different sort of madness, he was not certain, but it was as if she was there at the end of all of this. That she waited for him was a reassurance, and he could not wait to tell her how dull and aggravating this misadventure had been. She would curl up beside him, wrap her arms around his neck, and have all sorts of solutions that would make him feel foolish, he knew.

The locket that she had hidden in his things was so often in his hand that he had taken to fidgeting with it as he sat waiting to know what it was that he was meant to be doing.

“What is that you have?” Elphir asked, smirking still, clearly thinking himself clever, “Some bit of your treasure horde? I know your people are like the dwarves in that!”

The men about him stiffened, all looking at him as if trying to decide if they would take offense, either for themselves or for Lord Gimli’s people who had been given the Glittering Caves as his domain. Some had thought Eomer King’s generosity on this absurd, but it had led to a good trade for the nobles and the jewelry sellers. It had also ensured that should the Eorlinga need use of Helm’s Deep, that the damages to the walls would be mended. That alliance stood as firmly as the one that they held with Gondor.

“It is a treasure, but only a keepsake of a greater one,” Eomer said, mustering each bit of decency that he could before holding the trinket out to Elphir.

The princeling hesitated a moment, but he took in Eomer’s forceful look and accepted the bauble carefully. It was engraved in the knotwork that was common in the Mark, the sort of strange, tangled lines that were meant to make an image. It looked like a horse, and a swan, but that might only have been inferred afterward. His sister’s catlike smile looked back at him, and he tried to bite back the laugh that wanted to come, “A treasure, indeed.” Eomer’s gaze pierced him to his place and he felt rather like an insect that had been caught and was being studied as he handed the locket back.

“A wife is a treasure without peer,” Eothain said, trying to sound poetic, and deciding that he would offer his services to compose lines for Eomer’s use, in spite of the fact that his ideas had been so fully rejected. He smiled at Eomer, looking for approval, and saw it, though no one else would notice the softening about the king’s eyes.

“Without doubt,” Elphir smiled, hiding his awkwardness as best he could, “I should be pleased to hear that you would count my sister as so precious.”

Eomer nodded, “I have made her my heir, so that, were I not to return, she would rule.”

Elphir’s brow furrowed, “Will your people accept that?”

“They have no other choice, unless they mean to find some other heir of Eorl.”

“It would be easier if she had birthed an heir,” Elphir pointed out, a sound point, in spite of the fact that Eomer did not want to hear it. Personally, Elphir thought that Eomer had been given the siege as a way to ensure his chances of returning. It was not that anyone doubted his abilities, but there had been a consideration toward his line, whether he thought so or not.

Elphir had tried to like his sister’s husband, but found, in spite of his show of humility that Eomer King was an arrogant sort, and so certain of his righteousness. Eomer King was the sort of man that would present to all the world as a pillar of goodliness, but if you scraped at the façade, there would certainly be some mortal fallibility beneath it. In short, Elphir’s estimation of him was that Eomer King was a man of noble birth. They were all the same.

0x0x0

“I do not want to say anything until I am certain,” Lothiriel said, her voice low, an old habit born of fearing people listening at keyholes.

“I know,” Waerhild said, almost regretting that she had broached the subject at all, but also thinking that Lothiriel should know that the rumor of a Royal Pregnancy had reached the marketplace, “and your caution is of course a credit to you, but would it not give you further power to admit it?”

The two women sat together in the Royal Apartment working on their tasks as Eobrand crawled about on the floor with Caelon, who as ever seemed to take great care with the child. Eobrand had begun walking and from time to time would push himself up, using Caelon’s side as a support.

“Power from such a thing may be lost as soon as it comes,” Lothiriel said, looking over her shoulder, eyeing the shaft of light under the door, and praying that no one was eavesdropping, “If I am wrong, or if I am… then those that would speak against me would have more cause to call for my removal.”

“A handful of ingrates are not worth considering” Waerhild scoffed, “They are hateful men, and nothing more.”

“Perhaps not, but it is easy to say so when they do not hate you.”

“They do not know you to hate you,” Waerhild went on, “and I think it will be better for you than it was for Morwen Steelsheen.”

“Why should it be?”

“You seek no change but for the improvement of the country.”

“I am certain that she thought she was making improvements,” Lothiriel muttered, settling back in her chair, her dark head shaking, “I will do nothing and let Eomer handle it when he returns.”

Waerhild hesitated, looking at her friend and her nervously working fingers, “There may be a time when you will need to act in your own power and right. I know that caution has been advised, and I know that it was well meant, but you may need to have strength of a more direct sort.”

“When I have a son for the throne then I may be allowed to, but anything that I would mean to so while Eomer is away could be twisted to look like tyranny, and it could then be used as proof that I was sent to take the Mark for Elessar.”

“Stupid men,” Waerhild grumbled, “They do not know you, for if they did, they would know that any plan of that sort would be to take the Mark for yourself.”

She should not have laughed, but she did, “Do not give me such ideas.”

“Eomer King would approve.”

“Eomer King would be grateful of not needing to govern. I do think that he would be quite contented to be a trophy on my arm.”

“Now, there is a plan I would back.”

This was all said in jest. Eomer had made such jokes himself, but he would never give up his throne or Kingship. Eomer was a responsible man who, for all of his assertions of dislike for his crown and the obligations that came with it, he did in fact like having power and respect. He did not take any insult to his name or honor well, and he dealt swiftly with those who ignored his orders.

A letter had finally come from Harad, and it was as brief as Lothiriel had expected. Eomer clearly disliked the front that he was given to fight on, and all the more for there was no fighting to be had. He complained of the heat and of whatever fool had set this plan.

She hoped, as she ever had, that this would be over soon, and that he could return home to her. His absence was felt too keenly, and she had not told him that she might be with child. When another two weeks passed without any sight of blood, she would have missed two courses. She would tell him then. The idea that she would tell him that there was a chance, and then to have to write that it had been a mistake broke her heart. She could imagine how pleased he would be, only to have that hope dashed, and she could not do that to him.

0x0x0

“Pray tell, what manner of eyes have we on the city that this was missed?!” Eomer demanded, his voice thick as he looked about the table at the marshals and leaders of men, “Did not one of you notice this sooner?!”

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Imrahil said, “I believe it was assumed that the women were coming through one of the gates.”

“We have not watched their comings and goings,” one of the Swan Knights said, shamefaced.

“Did you lot think that they appeared out of the sand?!” Eomer demanded, knowing that he should have watched as well, but only now realizing that he had never paid them any mind, “Where is this door?”

“On the northern side of the city.”

He nodded, looking over the map that had been crudely drawn up, the suspected door marked, “Then we will send some men to stand by it and wait until the women come out. This will be a point of entry, and should they make it in, we will follow and get the gate opened for a full attack.”

The plan was made, and a letter written and taken to Aragorn to send reinforcements in case this was a trap. Eomer felt every day that they had sat, not using this information, or even having the sense to think of how the women were leaving the city as an offense to his men. He was as responsible for this oversight as anyone else, but now, seeing a possible end in sight was not ready to admit his own failing.

There was something about it that he could not describe, something about the whole thing that seemed wrong. Was it that there had never been enough guards on the wall? That could be easily dismissed as a prideful certainty that the walls would hold.

In the morning, they would have someone inside of the city, even if it was only a few, and they were captured. It was a risk, but one they would have to take if they wanted to stalemate to end.

0x0x0

The city was taken without any blood drawn, not for the quick and able attack, but because the city was deserted. As the army walked through the streets, they waited for an ambush, or any sign of civilians.

Elphir looked at the sheet of paper, his face twisted in irritation as he let his hand drop. He met Eomer’s gaze, ready for the outburst that would come when he read the Haradic words, “’Lady Riddah, Regent of Yisih Provence, does release the city into enemy hands, but does not release a single soul.’”

With a roar, Eomer flung one of the tables against a far wall, the way that it shattered apart was almost satisfying, but not enough to soothe his rage.

The city had been emptied, that much was clear. The people had not fled suddenly, but had packed their possessions, food, and heirlooms, leaving nothing of value behind. It had been a long, and carefully planned exodus. Eomer was not certain that the women had been used as a distraction. A few of the men had found their laundry in baskets in one of the washhouses. a few Five women who had been washer women and conjugal distractions and a guard had been caught as they had tried to escape, clearly being the last ones to leave once the city was empty.

“It would seem that there are ruins under the city that were built upon, that stretch out quite a way,” Imrahil said, not reacting to Eomer’s outburst, “and they simply walked out, as evidenced by animal droppings along the old paths, rather than surrendering.”

“But they have surrendered,” Elphir held up the paper again as proof.

“You fool, it is a trap. The Haradrim will return and lay siege to us now!” Imrahil said, his composure slipping as he shouted, “We might sue for peace, and use this document as evidence of diplomatic concession, but it will hardly matter if we are all trapped inside of these walls.”

Eomer seethed, staring out over the city, and not seeing its beauty. A prison was a prison, no matter how lovely the archways and mosaics were.

“We will hold here until King Elessar is able to bring reinforcements,” Imrahil ran his hand over his face, “As it stands, we have a foothold, and an occupation.”

Eomer slammed his fist against the window ledge, his nails digging into his hand. They could not move, at least until Aragorn came. When he did, Eomer would tell him that they took the city as requested, and that he and his men were going home. They had sat in the desert for near a month waiting for something to happen, waiting for reinforcements to come to the city’s aid, and meanwhile they had been outsmarted.

He rounded on his wife’s kin, stared at them, and left to find a bath. At least there was water, and some of his men had taken to splashing in the fountains like children.

Perhaps it was the end of it, and the Haradrim would simply surrender this city, but Eomer doubted it. The only way that he could see that coming to pass was if they were indeed so bereft of arms that they could not survive a fight. It was a possibility, as when they had come into the city, they had found that the guards on the walls were simply armor affixed on broom handles and beams.

He wondered if there had been any men of fighting age left in the city when the siege had started, or if there had only been women and children and that they had found the best way to save themselves. It wasn’t a thing he could admit yet, but he did admire the cunning of it. Perhaps this Lady Riddah should be offered a place on Aragorn’s council, for she seemed to have a better head than any of the rest of them. Eomer wanted to fight the men who had devised this siege, but he should have pointed out the flaws in it himself.

He should have known something was amiss, but he had been so blinded by his childish petulance that he had not paid much attention to what was happening about him. It was his fault, and he mulled that over as he washed, trying to find the words to send back to Lothiriel to tell her that they had taken the city, and how.

Erchirion had come in some attempt to draw Eomer King from his sullen mood, telling him that in spite of what had been thought, that he had found a good food store, and something called shisha. He laughed at Eomer’s confusion, and led him out to one of the verandas, “Come along.”

In the small amount of time Erchirion had been able to spend with his brother-by-law he had guessed, and rightly so, that a full belly might be expected to help any irritation in Eomer. His father had come to him and asked if he might take on the charge of improving Eomer’s mood, clearly not thinking that Elphir or Amrothos should be trusted to the charge. This was, in a sense, a diplomatic charge.

Eomer eyed the glass vessel with hesitance, thinking that it looked rather like some of the sea creatures that Lothiriel had told him about, and which she swore were real, and not simply made up to scare children. A sweet sort of smell permeated the air around the strange thing. “What is this?”

“This is a Huqqa!” Erchirion said, gleefully as he poured Eomer some coffee, “Also called a qalyan, or a water pipe.”

“What does it do?”

Erchirion smiled and took one of the arms of the thing and handed it to Eomer, “It is like that pipe that Elessar likes to puff on, but better.”

“Why?” Eomer looked at the hose, turning it this way and that in his hand.

“It tastes better,” Erchirion replied, taking a pull, “though it might give you a headache if you smoke too much of it.”

Eomer mimicked Erchirion, and he found that the smoke tasted the way that roses smelled and gave a nod of approval.

“I have one at home,” Erchirion said, reclining on a cushion, “and my aunt hates it.”

“Why?”

“She calls it… one of my vulgar habits. She does not think that it is the sort of thing that a well brought up young man should do.”

“What a strange thing to consider so wrong,” Eomer mused, looking out into the desert, and hoping that there would not be a sign of an attacking force, though he knew that it would come. He could feel it.

“What can I say? I am the family disappointment. At least I am the second son, so at least I am allotted more disappointment than Elphir, though Eru knows that father has been disappointed in him.”

“With his, er, interests outside of his marriage?”

“How very observant of you, sire,” Erchirion smirked, “I can say, though I would be forced to deny it if anyone asked, that we are all of us dismayed by the state of Elphir’s marriage.”

“I think you were all prepared to be dismayed by my marriage.”

Erchirion’s head wagged a bit, “I think that we all hoped for the best, but my sister can be a handful. I am certain you have seen her temper by now.” There was a different sort of tone in the way that Erchirion spoke about his sister. It was not that he seriously thought that she was a troublesome thing. He was not deriding her, but more that he had teased his little sister about her temperament and was going to keep doing so. “Has she thrown anything at you?”

“A pillow,” Eomer nodded, watching Erchirion’s face, “I miss her.”

“I know,” Erchirion looked away, and Eomer could see it in his face that he missed someone as well.

“What is this I hear about you taking an interest Leowella?”

Erchirion’s face fell, and he stumbled to regain his mask of carefree indifference, “Ah, you know… My weakness is a pretty face and a quick wit…”

Eomer’s head tilted as he ate some of the candied fruit that was offered up on the table, “I would take such cares in telling Lothiriel of it, but you needn’t do so with me.”

“I know why she left Meduseld,” Erchirion said in a low voice, leaning forward, “She says that nothing happened?”

“I tried to get her dressed and out of my study,” Eomer said solemnly.

“I believe you. What did Lothiriel do? Beside punch Leowella, I mean. I imagine that she screamed at you.”

Eomer winced, “No, indeed, well, eventually. At the time, she seemed to think that she was meant to accept such things as Lady Gadrien does.”

“And she thinks that Gadrien accepts things quietly?” Erchirion leaned forward, “My lord, she does not, I can tell you so. She might not show her fury in public, but when Elphir takes a mistress when she is not in confinement, or we are not,” he gestured vaguely about them, “Once she threatened to take the children and ask for the marriage to be dissolved.”

Eomer let out a clucking sound, “She ought to… though I take it that she did not…”

“We are trying to find a way to explain what an absolute git Elphir is being, but anything that we say will be dismissed.”

With a roll of his eyes Eomer looked away.

“Perhaps you explain the virtues of marriage to him?”

“Perhaps I kick you.”

Without knowing why, Erchirion laughed, “No, I am too delicate.”

“I have many concerns, and your brother’s marriage is not one of them,” Eomer went on, “For one, I want to leave this forsaken place. Then I want to kill Peldirion. After that, I want my wife and my own bed.”

“I would suggest you leave off any devices on Peldirion.”

“I will not. Do not offer that excuse of his rank and station, for I will not hear it.”

“No,” Erchirion waved his hand, “I say leave it, for that beast has other enemies that will see him dead. The Widow will kill him soon enough.”

“The ghost widow, you mean?”

“The very same.”

“I should think that as men, you would have taken up the charge that forces this specter to stay and let her soul rest.”

Shaking his head, Erchirion sighed, “I know that it is no defense for not upholding my sister’s honor, but I did kick him down a flight of stairs once when he was quite intoxicated… and I know I am not the only one to do such a thing.”

Eomer leaned forward, trying to sort out the strangeness of Erchirion, who lived his entire life presenting as careless and far too much of the social drunk, going about kicking people. His belief in a murderous ghost did not shake him, as Eomer knew that ghosts existed, it was more that for the first time, he had a sense that Erchirion actually paid attention to what was happening about him.

Giving him a slow, knowing smile, Erchirion took another pull on the pipe and puffed out some smoke, “Am I a fool if some part of me thought to make an offer of marriage to Lady Leowella?”

Eomer smiled, shaking his head, “No, but if you know what happened, then you know your sister will not like it.”

“That is the reason that I did not. Leowe- Lady Leowella said that it would not be appropriate, in spite of the fact that no one in Minas Tirith seems to know.”

“It is no business of mine what you do,” Eomer said, significantly, “and before the… incident, I counted Leowella among my friends. If you love her, and she in turn loved you, I would not object to a match. She was sent south so that her life would not be ruined by a single mistake.”

“But as you say, Lothiriel will not be pleased.”

It was true, and Eomer knew it. He looked away thinking it over, trying to find some solution, but none presented itself easily to his mind, “Leave your sister to me.”

Erchirion laughed, “Ah, that is a good one. Whoever said that Eomer King is not one for humor is clearly ignorant of your keen mirth.”

Eomer picked up one of the cushions and smacked the side of Erchirion’s head with it.

“Ah! There you are!” Elphir’s voice rang out from the door, “Clearly the pair of you have taken the best loot left.”

There was no real reason to so dislike Elphir, and Eomer knew that, well, besides his womanizing. But the eldest son had an air of a spoiled child. Eomer wondered if that was the reason for his disregard of his marriage vows, that no one had ever told him not to do something that he wanted to. He forced himself to smile, or as close to it as he could manage.

“Indeed, we have,” Erchirion said, “and you have not been invited to take part of our riches, so bugger off!”

Ignoring his brother, Elphir dropped onto one of the cushions and helped himself to the food, coffee, and pipe, “One of the women is trying to barter her freedom.”

Eomer let out a grunt, already certain that he was not going to be pleased by whatever it was that Elphir meant to say.

“It seems that Lady Riddah did indeed devise the plan for the evacuation of the city, and that she called every woman of ill repute to keep us occupied,” Elphir went on, as if this would be a shock to them all.

“No!” Erchirion deadpanned.

“Ah, hush!”

“What will you tell us next? That they took with them every goat?”

Eomer chuckled at that, surprising himself.

“Have you any news that would not be proven out by the obvious?” Erchirion asked, encouraged.

“One of the women is wanting to turn her coat and take our side,” Elphir said.

“And what does she offer?” Eomer asked, hoping against reason that perhaps the women would have some information that would help if a war was to be fought. That hope was killed by the look that Elphir gave him.

“I think that she is more concerned with her fate now, and does not want to be a slave, and is looking for a benefactor to aid her.”

“Is there cause for her concern?” Eomer asked, “As I understood it, were we to take this land that the people would be allowed to stay and live their lives in peace.”

“That what will happen,” Elphir said, “but with the memory of The Dark Lord’s rule, it is not unreasonable that they would be suspicious of our assurances.”

“Then make it clear that we have no cause to hurt civilians,” Eomer grumbled, leaning back, “I would say that we should release the prisoners, though they might have value as hostages if we need to, as your father says, go about a diplomatic handoff of the territory. A show of good faith. We do not need anyone saying that we have mistreated any prisoners.”

“I have already reassured them that they will be freed,” Elphir admitted, “but as she is seeking a new benefactor, I thought I might bring this to you before any such decision was made.”

Erchirion scoffed, shaking his head a little, trying to silently tell his brother to shut his mouth. He knew where this was going.

“She was pretending to be a laundress,” Elphir went on, still ignoring Erchirion and the foot that was prodding at him, “I know that you liked her. I saw you looking at her when she was collecting laundry…”

Eomer leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, daring the princeling to go on. There was a threat in that look, and it went unheeded as Elphir seemed to take that murderous look for interest.

“She is rather pretty,” Elphir went on, shaking off Erchirion’s hand on his shoulder, “and if you were to take an interest in her it would only be natural. I know you have been of a foul mood, and I do think she might help you.”

Erchirion winced, his eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the outburst that was surely coming.

Eomer was on his feet, glaring, his lips curled back over his teeth.

Elphir held his hands up, as if ready to fend off an attack, but his face was the very picture of confusion.

“I am married!” Eomer snarled, “I am married to your sister, and you would sit here and invite me to betray her?”

“It is a war,” Elphir said, “we are far from our wives and these things do happen…”

Eomer snatched Elphir up, dragging him to his feet by the tight grip that he held on his collar. He forced himself to enunciate each word, not wanting to be misunderstood, “I have my honor, and I do not break my word. You may play your vile games behind your wife’s back, but I do not,” he hurled Elphir back, his eyes wide with malice.

There were people about them, soldiers in the courtyard, and they all of them stood gawking at Eomer and Elphir, wondering if fists would be thrown. There was a ripple of murmuring among the Eorlinga as someone whispered what it seemed had been said, and one of the younger men was sent to find Eothain.

Elphir looked at his brother, almost begging for him to intercede, to speak sense to their sister’s husband, but Erchirion avoided his gaze, and the gaze of the watching crowd. There was a small shake in his head, and Elphir wondered what he had ever done to Erchirion to be abandoned like this.

Eomer took a few lumbering steps toward him, and Elphir scrambled to his feet, trying to run to safety. In the blindness of his rage, Eomer chased after him, only vaguely aware of Erchirion calling after him and trying to restrain him, and of calls for vindication for Lothiriel Queen.

0x0x0

The shouting echoed through the corridors and as Elphir ran, searching for his father, or else one of his friends who might be able to help, he was far too aware of Eomer’s footfalls behind him.

Imrahil peered out into the corridor, his sword in hand, thinking that the attack had come. He stared in confusion as his son ran to him.

“Eomer has lost his mind!” Elphir cried, hiding behind his father.

“What did you do?!” Imrahil demanded, looking over his shoulder at Elphir, not believing his panicked words.

“I did nothing!” Elphir replied indignantly.

Eomer approached, responding and Imrahil did try to understand him, but his words leaned together in an undistinguishable jumble of rage. One of his countrymen, the young guard that Imrahil had seen in Eomer’s company often, rested his hand on Eomer’s arm, trying to calm him.

“Eomer King says that this man has offered dishonor to our Queen,” Eothain explained, his own eyes narrowing.

A man shouted in heavily accented Westron, “Lothiriel Queen saved my mother’s farm!” At this, other voices joined in, agreeing and demanding that her good name be honored. Some voices were shouting in the common tongue, and others screamed in Rohirric.

Without asking what the dishonor had been, Imrahil snatched his eldest son by the back of his neck, glaring and asking without a word if he had been that stupid. “Did I not,” he asked in their language, “tell you to let your brother manage his mood?”

“Ada-” Elphir began but was not allowed another word.

“I will see to you,” Imrahil snarled, dismissing him before bowing low to Eomer King, and reverted to the common tongue, “I beg You Majesty’s pardon for my son’s actions. I will ensure that he is punished for what he has done.”

Eomer lurched forward against Eothain’s hand, as he shouted after Elphir.

0x0x0

Imrahil stormed into his son’s room, slamming the door behind him, “Have you lost your mind?!”

“I did nothing wrong!” Elphir called back, leaping up from the bed that he had claimed.

“I have been treated to the tale of what you did! Do you think yourself so clever, and so well versed in the ways of people that you think your own behavior is acceptable?!” Imrahil screamed, “Do I not have enough on my hands that I must hear that you have entreated your sister’s husband of all people to whore?! And you did such a thing where his people could hear?!’

“I did not think he would take it as an insult!”

“How could he not have? We have the assurance that Eomer King loves his wife, your sister, and you would encourage him to take up with one of the whores in the dungeon! And she clearly has the support of his army. You will be lucky if you can so much as walk amongst them without threat.”

“I thought it would improve his mood.”

“And now I have his temper, his insulted honor to contest with as well as an impending attack! He could take his men and leave, and he would be right to do so!” Imrahil snarled, slamming his hand on a table, “I told you to let Erchirion talk to him. I told you keep yourself to planning and to ensuring that our relays still stand. You are so possessed of your own cleverness that you simply cannot accept that your brothers are better suited to some charges than you are! Well, let me tell you something, if we lose the support of the Rohirrim, if Eomer King breaks the alliance, I will be certain to tell King Elessar who is to blame for that!”

Elphir stared back at his father, his attempts to his rage failing as his handsome face twisted, “If you think-”

“Shut your mouth!” Imrahil shouted, pressing close to Elphir, his eye twitching, as he looked over his son’s face, “She is your sister… your sister!” He shook his head in disgust, “When I have been able to calm Eomer King you will make the most heartfelt apology that you are capable of, and you will grovel if it is needed.”

“I most certainly will not!” Elphir snarled, “I will be Prince of Dol Amroth, and will now bow to some barbarian king who thinks he is so noble as that!”

Imrahil glared, “You have threatened our nation’s diplomatic relations, and were Eomer not as noble as he in fact is, you would have threatened your sister’s marriage. But that does not matter to you, does it?”

Then, finally, for the first time, Elphir seemed to actually realize what he had done, at least in some small way.

“You will stay in this room, and out of sight until I can clean up this mess that you have made for us,” Imrahil said, trying to collect himself. He would need to grovel, and he would need to make every assurance that his son’s behavior was not a reflection of his family, or of their feelings.

From what Imrahil knew of the Rohirrim, they considered an insult to their honor to be an offense handled by physical violence.

“You cannot keep me locked up in here.”

“Challenge me, and see,” Imrahil threatened in a low growl.


End file.
